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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120509">Dumbass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgirldeathgrips/pseuds/catgirldeathgrips'>catgirldeathgrips</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Monster High</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Jackson, Completed, I mean they're teenagers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Whump, alcohol is a recurring character in this ig, because teenagers are dumb, but no actual descriptions, deuce is closeted, gdi I meant LIKING, i mean they deserve something nice after all of this so yk what, i posted most of this at like 6 am btw, i wont make fun of them too hard, im shitty at writing dialogue, jackson is kinda attracted to frankie tbh, jackson is kinda unhinged in this, like horniness, literally these two are so stupid, mentions of sex n uhhh, my cousin made fun of me for likeing monster high, not very long ones but they will be there, so like what else can be expected, stupid cheesy gay dates, tbh I just wanted to make my 9 y/o self proud, that isn't related to the story, there will be descriptions of making out tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:55:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgirldeathgrips/pseuds/catgirldeathgrips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's stupid," Jackson starts, fumbling with the joint between his fingers.</p><p>"None of what you say is stupid,"</p><p>"I fell for you Deuce, and I'm a fucking idiot because of it,"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deuce Gorgon/Jackson Jekyll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson wakes up in a place he's never been before, good thing he knows someone who would probably be up at this hour.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hhh god</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jackson's eyes flutter upon feeling something cold hitting his face softly, which is odd, given that he's in his room.<br/>
Shifting on something hard and uncomfortable tells him that his initial thoughts were a major offshoot. That, along with a migraine intense enough to kill a horse.<br/>
He slowly raises a hand to his face, rousing his suspicions once he feels a hot, warm liquid with a coppery stench. Pulling a hand away, he sees the tips of his fingers dyed in red.</p><p>"Shit," he breathes, growing more concerned as the minutes went on. Thankfully it doesn't take too long to gather where he is, in the back of an alleyway, which of course makes perfect sense because why wouldn't it? Jackson was exactly the type of person to hang around in these types of places, covered in cigarette butts and broken glass, no less. It really pulled the whole 'homeless convicted felon' look together.</p><p>Thanking God he isn't wounded too badly, aside from a scrape on his face and aches and pains from lying on the pavement too long, he stands up slowly, doing his best to avoid contact with the various syringes and used condoms scattered around where he was unconscious, and pulls his iCoffin from his pocket, checking the time.<br/>
It was half past six in the morning on a Sunday, and given that the last thing he remembers is being at home watching reruns of The Mentalist, he can assume he's been out all night.<br/>
Well, that's swell.<br/>
He sighs and curses under his breath again.</p><p>Seeing the clouds of breath forming around his face and the tiny droplets collecting on his phone screen, he can deduce that it's snowing, which isn't too out of the ordinary, given that it's October, but it sure made the matter of getting home inconvenient.</p><p>Using the last card he can think of, he chastises himself internally as he dials Deuce's number. Jackson isn't stupid, he knows that absolutely no normal person would be awake at this hour, but maybe the flack he receives from his friend will be minimal.<br/>
One ring, two…</p><p>"Jackson? I was just about to go for a jog, what's up?" Deuce's tone is skeptical, but far from annoyed.</p><p>"Deuce--" Jackson stops, why is his throat sore? Has he been yelling? Ignoring it, he clears his throat and continues, "look, I'm uh, in the weirdest situation right now, and I need a ride back to my place, I'm sorry to ask this of you--"</p><p>"Jackson are you okay? It isn't like you to be enigmatic," Jackson can hear an engine start from Deuce's side of the call, he doesn't get his hopes up, "what happened and where are you?"</p><p>"I'm uh…" Jackson walks out of the alleyway toward an extremely dodgy looking strip, one of the establishments being a bar.<br/>
Figures.</p><p>"I'm in front of a corner store, but I woke up behind a bar,"</p><p>"Damn, are you doing okay?"</p><p>"Physically, yeah, I mean I'll live, but I'll have to ask my mom to update my shots, granted she doesn't end up killing me before my tetanus does," Deuce chuckles, Jackson smiles knowing his joke was a hit, "mentally… I dunno, I don't remember anything,"</p><p>"That tends to happen when you're blackout drunk,"</p><p>"No like--" Jackson cuts off, deciding against going on a tangent. "I dunno, I'll explain it to you when you get here,"<br/>
"So do you know exactly where you are?"</p><p>He lists off street numbers and names of establishments around him he doesn't recognize, allowing Deuce to draw a solid conclusion.</p><p>"That's forty five minutes outta town, dude, how the hell'd you end up there?"</p><p>"Good question," Jackson muses, sitting on a parking divider.</p><p>"Alright, I gotta go, can't talk while driving, hang tight, Jack, see you in a bit," The line goes dead, leaving Jackson to run a hand down his face, growing endlessly more frustrated as time went on. He seriously debates buying Gatorade or something to help with how he was feeling from the nearby corner store, but given that his wallet is nowhere to be found on his person, that's unachievable. He can only pray he didn't take it with him.</p><p>He dicked around on his iCoffin for nearly an hour until a green corvette pulled up to where Jackson was sitting.<br/>
Feeling relief wash over his bones, Jackson all but sprints to the passenger side, collapsing when he hits the leather upholstery, breathing a ragged sigh.</p><p>"You, uh… you look like crap,"</p><p>"I feel like crap," Jackson runs the tips of his fingers where he feels the scrape to be, on his left cheek. The blood has dried and crusted over, and the feeling disgusts him, but he plays it off. He's seventeen, he can handle it.</p><p>"You have any wipes so I can get this off my face?"</p><p>Deuce reaches to the glove cabinet, rummaging around until he finds a package of wet wipes. Jackson grins weakly in thanks, not having the energy to do much else before he pulls off his glasses, which he's surprised haven't broken, and wipes the debris off his face. How he's survived to this point is beyond him.</p><p>"Oh, I brought you this," Deuce hands Jackson a green sports drink, "figured your stomach wasn't feeling too hot either,"</p><p>"You're a saint," He laughs before taking a swig. </p><p>"Alright I'm not driving anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened,"</p><p>"Honestly, I have next to no clue, the last thing I remember is falling asleep on the couch watching tv, next thing I know I'm in a damn alley," </p><p>"Sounds like you had quite the night," Deuce snorts, causing Jackson to jab his shoulder playfully.</p><p>"Ass,"</p><p>"Okay, but seriously, you remember nothing?"</p><p>"No, absolutely jack,"</p><p>"Shit," Deuce whistled, "well, will you update me if you figure out what the hell's going on? I'm worried about you man,"</p><p>"I mean," Jackson hesitates, there were few people who knew about this, Heath and his immediate family being the only ones. He didn't know Deuce incredibly well, and he generally preferred it as such. Even with the harassment that came with being a human at a monster school, people usually tended to avoid him. Matter of fact, the only reason him and Deuce got along so well is because they were teammates on the casketball team, so their friendship started out as mutual respect more than anything.</p><p>Jackson glances at Deuce, even behind his shades, he can tell that he's expecting him to continue.</p><p>"I don't think it was me who went to the bar, per se,"</p><p>"Intrigue,"</p><p>"My mom has Jekyll and Hyde lineage, which I'm willing to bet she passed on to me, so…"</p><p>"Like, that old scientist guy from England?" </p><p>Deuce's bluntness always manages to crack a snort out of Jackson, and even in his current state, right now is no exception.</p><p>"Yeah, pretty much,"</p><p>"So your last name isn't a coincidence?"</p><p>"Nah, I mean hey-- it could be, white normies tend to have the same sounding last names,"</p><p>It's Deuce's turn to snort.</p><p>"So-- okay, you've got like… an alter ego?"</p><p>"Possibly, I'm gonna have to talk to my mom about it though, I dunno for sure,"</p><p>"Well, it's kind of a badass power to have,"</p><p>"It would be, if the 'Hyde' side of me was less willing to let me die of hypothermia," He mutters bitterly, shooting a text at his mom reassuring her that he was fine, he assumed she would be much more frantic, but given the possibility of what he'd just told Deuce, maybe this is a normal thing for the Hyde side of him, after all this isn't the first time he's woken up in a place he doesn't recognize.</p><p>Jackson groans, a wave of fatigue hitting him like a ton of bricks. Normally he'd just nap in the car, but he feels it would be rude to not at least converse with the guy who saved him from being a John Doe at a nearby morgue.</p><p>"You got any plans for later?" He mutters, fighting sleep as he rests his cheek in his palm, turning his gaze to Deuce, who shrugs indifferently.</p><p>"Not really, unless I'm hanging out with someone else generally I just kinda end up making my day up as I go,"</p><p>Jackson can't really help but admire that. He's admitted to himself that he can be neurotic as all hell, especially when it came to planning. Having the leniency to do whatever whenever is a skill he envied.</p><p>"What about you?"</p><p>"Me? Well, I was originally planning to catch up on any work I missed, but a two year nap is kinda tempting right now," </p><p>Deuce laughs, tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs. "God, I'd imagine,<br/>
"I know I've asked like fifty times, but you're not… seriously hurt are you?"</p><p>Jackson bites his cheek, the soft tone in Deuce's voice leaving a bit of a bad taste in his mouth.</p><p>"Aside from my face and lying on the pavement for what I can assume was the betterment of three hours, I'm okay,"</p><p>"Are you sure? Nobody hurt you?"</p><p>Jackson's eyes narrow beneath his thick-rimmed glasses.<br/>
He knows that he isn't exactly the strongest when it comes to defending himself against humans or monsters, it's not like he's well known for athleticism, but for god's sake, he isn't weak. Be it Manny using him as a punching bag or his mom treating him like a child, people assume he's a scrawny, weak little nerd incapable of being an adult. He isn't Bambi.</p><p>Jackson sighs, albeit a little indignantly, and tries to let his annoyance go unnoticed.</p><p>"I'm okay, Deuce, a scrape on my face and a few aches aren't gonna kill me,"</p><p>Deuce can sense Jackson's annoyance through his tone, so against his better judgement, he doesn't bring the subject up again. His intent was never to coddle Jackson, the guy's pretty damn tough, especially for being able to lie in an alley for hours and suffer minimal effects, but a part of him finds him caring about Jackson more than he'd like to admit. </p><p>Jackson joined Monster High's casketball team the beginning of the previous year, and despite being a normie in an all monster school, he was pretty damn good at it, even turning the tide for a couple of matches. Given how extroverted Deuce was, he found himself talking to Jackson as the year went on, he was pretty funny and easy to get along with, even warming up to his girlfriend Cleo, who was, admittedly, uppity about talking to a normie at first, so at least he would say pretty confidently that they were friends.</p><p>Jackson takes another swig of the sports drink to get rid of the guilt bubbling in his stomach, which he pretends is just nausea, and softens his gaze. He knows Deuce isn't the type to baby him, but after years of being treated like he's defenseless, annoyance at seemingly unwarranted concern became more of a base reaction than anything else.</p><p>"Think you can turn up the heat? I'm kinda chilly," </p><p>"Yeah, sure," Deuce cranks a dial, sending a rush of warm air over Jackson's pale skin. He actually hadn't realized how cold he really was, probably meaning he was out there for longer than he thought, thank god Deuce was awake. </p><p>"If you're tired, you can crash for a bit, I mean given that it's rush hour and we're taking a highway, it'll probably be a while until I can get you home,"</p><p>"You're sure? You'll be alone though,"</p><p>"I'll be fine, you should nap if you're tired,"</p><p>Unable to find strength to argue, Jackson pulls his glasses off, resting them on the dash and rests his cheek on his arm, falling asleep quicker than he thought possible for him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson wakes from his nap, arriving home soon after.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>crossfade shows up here. that's it. that's the only interesting thing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he awakes, he's still in the car, significantly warmer and also much more groggy.</p><p>"Hey, you're up," Deuce greets with a grin.</p><p>"Where are we?" Jackson's words are an exhausted jumbled mess as he clumsily pulls his glasses on, minding the wound on his cheek that flares angrily with a single brush of his fingers.<br/>"About fifteen from your place," Deuce responds, stifling a laugh at how tired Jackson sounds. "feeling a bit better?"</p><p>"Can't tell," Slurs Jackson, slowly becoming more awake as he scrubs the unscathed side of his face with his hand.</p><p>"You weren't asleep very long," Deuce observes, silently urging for Jackson to take another drink. After all he woke up near a bar, he's probably extremely dehydrated.</p><p>Jackson decides against telling Deuce about his inability to sleep for very long paired with insomnia since it's far more tragic sounding than what the situation calls for and instead just shrugs.</p><p>"I'm just trying to figure out what I'm gonna say to my mom, like I gotta ask her, but how exactly does one start a conversation about unknowingly living a dual life?" Jackson asks that last part mostly to himself, not expecting Deuce to hear what he said let alone respond.</p><p>"You could take a DNA test? Like, spit in a tube and see if you have any monster lineage?"</p><p>"I could," Jackson nods, "kinda expensive though,"</p><p>"Ah, true," Deuce chuckles softly, "asking your mom would probably be a bit of a better bet,<br/>"Speaking of which," Jackson looks out his window to see his house, all the lights on and car still in the driveway, meaning his parents were not only up, but hadn't left for work.</p><p>"Oh, perfect," Jackson is clearly irritated, mostly at himself, but despite this, he turns to Deuce and smiles.<br/>"I seriously owe you one, Deuce, thank you so, so much for driving me back,"</p><p>"Don't worry about it a bit, take the Powerade with you, I think you need it more than I do,"</p><p>Jackson looks down, remembering the lime green juice he'd hardly drank. He can't help but wonder if he color codes everything he owns.</p><p>Jackson hops out of the car, grabbing the sports drink and heading up his driveway, waving as enthusiastically as he can muster at the moment.</p><p>Deuce remains by the curb, ensuring Jackson gets inside safely, before driving off, back to his own house about ten minutes away.</p><hr/><p>Jackson heads inside, praying that his parents were at least not on the first floor, but unfortunately his already shitty luck fails him as he sees his parents eyeing him from the kitchen.<br/>"Jackson, where on earth were you," His mother sounds less angry and more concerned, but he figures the former will probably come later.</p><p>"Ah, you know, selling my body," His mother isn't amused, but his father clearly holds back a grin. "In all seriousness, before I answer, I need to ask you something,"</p><p>"You were out all night, I think we'll be asking the questions, young man, and what exactly is in the bottle?"</p><p>"Powerade, settle down,"</p><p>His father whistles. "Back talking after being out all night? Good call, great,"</p><p>"Please, just hear me out for a second?"</p><p>She sighs, but stays silent and allows her son to press his case.<br/>"So, mom, you know how you've got like… Jekyll and Hyde lineage?"</p><p>Her expression shifts from annoyance to confusion.</p><p>"Yes?"<br/>"Did you pass any of that onto me?"</p><p>His parents' eyes widen, they glance at each other, silently communicating and leaving Jackson confused. Figures the very person whom the issue concerns should be left out of the know right? Jackson swallows anger.</p><p>"Jackie, we always knew that you… had an alter ego but, until recently it seems, he was completely dormant,"</p><p>Jackson wants to cringe at the nickname, he knows his mother means well, but by god can she stop with the coddling? Whatever horrible thing she wants to protect him from, he can handle it, he's almost an adult.</p><p>"You've disappeared before, but usually you're back in your room by morning as… well, you,"</p><p>"I mean, yeah, fair enough, but it would've been nice to know this,"</p><p>His father pipes up, "We planned to tell you it just wasn't the right time,"</p><p>"When exactly would be the right time? When I come home after waking up behind a bar?"</p><p>"Jackson, I'm sorry,"</p><p>Suddenly, the reason for being enrolled in a monster populated school is beginning to make more sense. Jackson tries to push down his anger, but it isn't very successful.</p><p>"You've got a transformation trigger, right? Do I have one? Like, will I know when this happens?"</p><p>"We don't know for sure, so far it seems Holt comes out extremely randomly,"</p><p>Jackson says nothing at first, then something hits him.</p><p>"Holt? He has a name,"</p><p>His mother's face twists, like she revealed something she shouldn't have, before she sighs in defeat.</p><p>"Yes, Holt Hyde, he's a fire elemental, like your father,"</p><p>Jackson looks down at his hand, it's cracked and dry, and for the first time this morning, he notices his knuckles are bruised.</p><p>"Holt seems like an incredibly all-around guy to, you know, pass out in an alley, tell the kid I say hi,"</p><p>"Jackie, I know you're upset," his mother places her hand on his shoulder, her expression looks guilty. "Why don't you have a shower and sleep for a bit? I'll book an appointment for a specialist for tomorrow so you can figure this whole thing out,"</p><p>He wants to be angry at his mom, but something's stopping him, maybe exhaustion, maybe the fact that given the night he had and the amount of pain he's in, he just wants her to give him a hug.</p><p>Ultimately, he kneels down and pecks her forehead. Despite her being nearly a foot shorter than him, she usually ends up standing on tip-toe to give him affection, but he thinks today, he can make the effort.</p><p>"Thanks mom,"</p><hr/><p>He heads up to his room and rests his Powerade on a dresser. The neon color caught the light of Crossfade's heat lamp, making it look almost radioactive.</p><p>Speaking of the chameleon, he reaches into the terrarium, with an offering hand, to which Crossfade climbs onto Jackson's fingers and blinks appreciatively.</p><p>"Hey bud," Jackson greets, his voice dripping with affection for the small lizard. "how you been doing, hm?"</p><p>He looks into Crossfade's enclosure and sees food that he didn't remember putting there. No matter how irresponsible this Holt guy was when it came to matters of their shared body, at least he was taking care of their pet. Then again, it could've been one of his-- their parents, so maybe he's justified in hating him after all.</p><p>Jackson just groans quietly, plugging in his iCoffin and putting Crossfade back into his terrarium. His mother was right in saying a shower would be a good idea, he smells like booze and something else he recognizes but definitely doesn't want to think about.</p><hr/><p>Once stepping foot into the bathroom and shedding his clothes, he steps under the warm water, sighing at finally not being freezing cold.</p><p>Scrubbing the stench of a terrible night off his skin is somehow incredibly satisfying, he was beginning to make himself gag, so he can only imagine how unpleasant the experience was to everyone else.</p><p>Jackson blinks as he squirts a blob of shampoo into his palm. He feels admittedly rather horrible about snapping at Deuce earlier. Actually, he didn't even snap, he was outright passive aggressive. Regardless, Deuce was concerned for him, and concern for your friend after picking them up from an alleyway is far different than concern for a normie nerd who you think is incapable of taking care of himself. Constant doting does get old, but Deuce's doting isn't constant, nor is it really even doting at all. From the moment they met, Deuce treated him as an equal, which meant a lot given that Deuce is probably one of the most charismatic and well known guys on the Monster High campus, even at a normie high school, someone like Deuce wouldn't be caught dead talking to someone like Jackson.</p><p>He scrubs through his hair, not bothering to wash it properly, and just rinses it out with water, hoping he gets it all.</p><p>How would Deuce wash his hair? It's not really hair, is it? Does he have to wash each snake individually? Come to think of it, does he even have any body hair? He thinks of asking Deuce later, but he doesn't seem like the type of guy to talk about his bodily functions and hygiene so freely.</p><p>Once Jackson dries and dresses into clean, warm clothes, he collapses onto his bed just in time for another wave of fatigue to crash into him like a pile of bricks.</p><p>Before sleeping, however, he has another idea come to him as he unplugs his iCoffin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im tired and I hate this chapter i swear it'll get more interesting later</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Holt's here. That's it. Oh, I guess Frankie makes an appearance too.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>did I ever mention how much I hate writing filler?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Holt stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, adrenaline pumping through his veins which make it all the more harder for him to contain himself. The night is young, and thinking about the seemingly endless possibilities for all the antics fills his body with giddy excitement.</p><p>He checks his iCoffin, pausing in confusion when he sees a video file titled 'for Holt.'</p><p>Weird, he knew he shared a phone with his alter ego, but up until now he was under the impression that said alter ego had no idea he existed.</p><p>Then he remembers the previous night and how he'd ended up pissfaced, getting kicked out of a bar, eventually deciding 'fuck it' and falling asleep in the alleyway.</p><p>Well, whoever he shared a body with was probably only making this video to tear him a new asshole.</p><p>Nervously, Holt presses play.</p><p>
  <em>"Hey, uh, I'm assuming if you're watching this then you're Holt Hyde?"</em>
</p><p>Smart kid.</p><p>
  <em>"Well, okay, I guess if I'm gonna share a body with you, I guess I should introduce myself properly; I'm Jackson Jekyll, I like casketball, mac n cheese… fuck what else? I dunno, there isn't too much to tell about me, really," </em>
</p><p>Oh, so his alter ego is a nerd with an inferiority complex. Could be worse.</p><p>
  <em>"Okay, um, lemme actually say what I intended to, so I'm assuming if you're watching this then mom decided not to spit roast you, in which case, congrats! She came pretty close with me though, so I can only hope you've got the same amount of dumb luck I have,"</em>
</p><p>Holt snickers, this kid is actually pretty funny.</p><p>
  <em>"I actually only found out that you existed a few hours ago, and to be honest I was pretty pissed that you left us in an alleyway, still kind of am, but less so now that I've showered and gotten home,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yikes, sorry Jackson.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"In other words, I feel kind of like we… got off on the wrong foot, so maybe if you could leave some kind of message? Doesn't have to be a video, it could be like a note or something, I just wanna know the kinda person you are, I guess, I mean… we're kinda like brothers, in a way? And hey, if you found out about a brother you didn't know you had, wouldn't you wanna know more about him too?"</em>
</p><p>Weird way of putting it, but it definitely makes sense.</p><p>
  <em>"Anywho, I'm assuming that you're gonna go out tonight, so uh, maybe try to come back before dawn, I have a doctor's appointment in the morning, after all,"</em>
</p><p>Holt turns off their phone, laying it face down on the bed. </p><p>The guilt from leaving Jackson plagues over his initial excitement over the possibility of causing mayhem, so he decides against going out and instead decides to work on some art. Even for a party animal such as Holt, staying in wasn't the worst if he found things to occupy his time for long enough. </p><p>Usually if he was home stuck, he worked on either music or visual art. His music as of right now was jumbly hyper beats that while he didn't hate, he wasn't exactly the proudest of. As for his sketches, well, he considered himself a musician before an artist but his art definitely wasn't too bad either, it often ended up being what he would describe as visual depictions of feelings too abstract for words.</p><p>Holt turns behind him, to Crossfade's enclosure-- he isn't sure why he remembers this name, but it's verbatim-- and pulls the chameleon out, gently.</p><p>"Hey lil' man, wanna help me bash out some tunes?" Holt's natural growl still underlines his tone, yet it feels softer, somehow.</p><p>Crossfade licks his lips-- or at least what Holt assumes are his lips-- as Holt scratches affectionately under his chin.</p><p>Just as he's about to walk to the desk, however, a buzzing noise from the nightstand alerts him. Holt correctly assumes that said noise but be his phone, so he picks it up and gives the screen a glance-over.</p><p>
  <em><strong>Frankie-Fine</strong>: still up for tonight?</em>
</p><p>Shit, could her timing be any worse? Normally he was more than willing to head to Frankie's house for a night of fun, but considering last time he'd wound up nearly an hour from home and also nearly dead, he didn't think that cavorting with the stitched-up ghoul was the best idea for tonight.</p><p>
  <em><strong>You</strong>: sorry gore-gous, can't.</em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong>Frankie-Fine</strong>: something up holt? </em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong>You</strong>: not feeling up for it is all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong>You</strong>: sorry frankie.</em>
</p><p>Holt doesn't receive a response, but in all honesty, he doesn't expect one. He just sighs in defeat as he tries to cheer himself up at the prospect of making music with his chameleon-confidant. </p><p>He sets the lizard down on the shared desk between him and… Jackson was it? Before he pulls out a bin of his personal belongings kept in a dark corner of their closet.</p><p>At this point, he definitely doesn't need to bother hiding his stuff since Jackson's well aware that he exists, so he doesn't bother stuffing the bin back once he finds what he was looking for, a soundboard.</p><p>It wasn't anything overly flashy or expensive, yet for what his parents could afford, it was pretty killer quality. He'd gotten it as a present earlier this year when he'd expressed in conversation to his father he was interested in a musical career-- despite knowing it wasn't the most realistic or practical of choices. </p><p>Holt plugs the launchpad into the laptop and grins when the buttons light up in candy colored shades. Already bursting with excitement, he pulls up a file, simply titled 'Hotline.mp4'</p><p>What blares out of the speakers is a series of remixed phone-ring assets and computer beeps. There's no words, but Holt can decide if he wants to add that later. </p><p>After giving the skeleton of the song a listen-through, Holt scrawled down what he thinks he's missing on a nearby notepad, and tries to add such with the soundboard.</p><p>He's at this for about four hours before he's yawning non-stop and forcing himself to stay awake. Holt glances at the nearby alarm clock, seeing that it's half past five in the a.m.</p><p>"Damn," Holt mutters, picking up Crossfade (who he thinks is asleep, but he isn't sure) and putting him back in the enclosure.</p><p>"Thanks for the help, bud," Holt grins, sleepily, about to crash for the night, before remembering Jackson's request.</p><p>"Ah, shit," Holt bites his tongue, far too tired to take a video of himself, but figures that a handwritten note will do just fine. Just as quickly as he scribbled out a message and left it on his soundboard, he crashed on his bed, pulling the covers over himself and crashing for the night.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>backstory: I was absolutely shitfaced when I wrote half of this, I'm talking like half a bottle of vodka and half a bottle of moonshine shitfaced. I accidentally wrote Frankie as "Farnkie" and laughed for 10 minutes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson goes to the doctor fucking wow. oh yeah maybe a bit of tension fuck ion know.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains a very vague mention of SA (Sexual Assault) as well as homophobic slurs/bullying, if these are things that are triggering to you, please read with caution. Please note that not every character's views align with my own and this is purely fictional. With that in mind, reader discretion advised.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ever annoying sounds of Jackson's alarm grow louder, and in turn, Jackson pulls the covers over his head, unsuccessfully trying to drown out the noise.</p><p>When the realization hits him that he has to wake up, he groans and slams his hand on the snooze button, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes.</p><p>Doing a quick once-over on his body, Jackson sees that he has no new wounds, so he comes to the conclusion that Holt probably stayed in their room all night. </p><p>
  <em>Well, that's nice of him. </em>
</p><p>Jackson stretches his arms behind him and rolls his neck a couple of times in an attempt to crack it, which falls flat, and pulls on his glasses, as well as an old t-shirt. He's about to leave his room when he notices something on his desk that definitely wasn't there before. What appears to be a soundboard with a note on top of it.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Jackson</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sorry I couldn't leave a video message, didn't have time. Also, sorry for leaving you in an alley, that was shitty of me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S. Don't touch my soundboard, I'll throw us in a lake.</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Jackson snorts, amused by the added on acrimony, and walks down the stairs to the kitchen. The smell of brewing coffee forces an inadvertent smile out of him as he pulls down one of the bizarre kitschy coffee cups his father has the habit of collecting. The one he grabbed has millennial pink letters reading only <em>'30, Flirty, 'N willing to get DIRTY!</em>' </p><p>Jackson remembers his dad buying this particular mug years ago at a thrift store when they went on a road trip to Michigan, much to his mother's dismay.</p><p>"Morning Jackie! Did you sleep well?" His mother calls from the far off pantry, her normally peppy voice very obviously fatigued.</p><p>"Decent, it's nice to sleep in a bed as opposed to icy pavement,"</p><p>"Speaking of which, you have a doctor's appointment at eight-ish, so you're gonna miss a fair bit of school,"</p><p>"I'm okay with that," The usual morning routine of getting the shit beaten out of him was never really something he looked forward to, though unless the person in question was an uncontrollable masochist, most with their head screwed on straight probably wouldn't enjoy getting punched around by an angry, testosterone filled minotaur. </p><p>The coffee maker beeps, so minding the glass portion of the pitcher, he pours the coffee into the mug, along with nearly half a carton of cream and two scoops of sugar, stirring gratuitously.</p><p>"Once you finish your coffee, get dressed and I'll drive you to the pediatrician,"</p><p>"Wait, you're taking me? It's like a twenty minute walk, I can go myself,"</p><p>"I know you can, but I'm going to go with you because I want to know what's going on,"</p><p>"I can just <em>tell you</em>--"</p><p>"Jackson, I know you, if it's something bad you're not going to <em>want</em> to tell me, you're going to give me some enigmatic answer and avoid telling me anything that may be concerning," She sighs, gaze shifting elsewhere, "I'm sorry, I know you want independence, but this is something I need to know the entirety of, I'm not trying to bubblewrap you, but I'm your mom, I care about you, okay?"</p><p>Jackson caves, silently taking another sip of coffee. He knows that when it comes to him, his mom would never never budge, so there was no real point in continuing to argue.</p><p>He checks his iCoffin to see if anyone had texted him, and surprisingly, a couple of alerts from before he'd woken up light up his homescreen.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Deuce</strong></span>: you doing okay?</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em><strong><span class="u">You</span></strong>: headed to a clinic to see what's wrong with me</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em><strong><span class="u">Deuce</span></strong>: exciting</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em><strong><span class="u">Deuce</span></strong>: think you could update me once you find out what's up?</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: sure thing</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Jackson grins to himself at Deuce's concern. He's still guilty about being an ass toward him, especially considering he was willing to drive almost two hours to pick him up, but he's infinitely grateful that he doesn't bring it up. </p><p>Soon enough, Jackson finishes his coffee and retreats back to the bathroom to freshen up, however, in the middle of brushing his teeth, he accidentally sticks it too far down his throat and gags almost immediately, panic that isn't his causing him to drop the toothbrush in shock. </p><p>He's coughing and spluttering into the sink, something about this feels so familiar, but these aren't his memories, so what happened to him? to <em>Holt</em>? </p><p>He tries not to think about it as he rinses the rest of the toothpaste from his mouth and heads to put on proper clothing.</p>
<hr/><p>Jackson's sitting in the car with his mother, staying mostly silent as cheesy music from the eighties plays softly from the car's speakers. He keeps his head rested on his arm, still tired from earlier.</p><p>The doctor's visit was mostly uneventful, they ran a few tests and took about an ounce of his blood, only for the results to come inconclusive and for the doctor to effectively say Holt will come out whenever the fuck he wants to. Or at least they think so, because apparently all the tests they ran and all the medical equipment they put on him was just not enough for them to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. </p><p>In short, the entire doctor's visit felt like pretty much a major crapshoot, as well as a gigantic waste of time. But he got to miss half of his classes, which wasn't the worst thing in the world. </p><p>"Okay, so I didn't have enough time to pack you a lunch, so," His mom hands him a twenty dollar bill.</p><p>"Thanks mom," The food at Monster High wasn't really anything Jackson himself particularly enjoyed, there was always a tentacle or an eye hidden in most of their dishes, but they did have options for monsters adopted by normie families who were used to the type of food they made, so that was considerate. They never really managed to get it quite right, though.</p><p>It feels like no time at all before his mom pulls into the parking lot of the school, leaving Jackson to hug her goodbye and jog in through the front doors, slinging his lime bag over his shoulder.</p><p>The period before lunch is just about over, so the halls are pretty much empty, it leaves Jackson just enough time to get his shit together before he heads to the creepateria. Or he'd so hoped.</p><p>"Wow, look who decided to show his normie face again!" A voice above him booms in false joy. </p><p>Jackson is hardly surprised.</p><p>"Good afternoon, Manny, I'm surprised it took you this long to notice me,"</p><p>"Where the hell were you this morning? Get too scared and hide away?"</p><p>Jackson sighs, opening his locker and grabbing a couple books.</p><p>"If you must know, I had a doctor's appointment,"</p><p>"Ho-ho! What for?" </p><p>"My medical concerns are none of your business," Jackson replies flatly. "Now, if you'll excuse me," He closes his locker, "I would like to buy myself a lunch--"</p><p>Manny pushes him against an unused locker, and with his brute strength, it's enough to sting a bit. </p><p>"Why the hell are you even here?! You're a little normie faggot who doesn't even have any real friends and just mopes around reading fucking books! You don't belong in a place like this!"</p><p>Trying to regain his bearings after being severely winded is much more of a task than it should be for Jackson, but he manages.</p><p>"I'd say it's because people enjoy talking to me, people like what I have to say, so with that in mind, why are you here, Manny?" Jackson hisses through clenched teeth.</p><p>"All you do is push around people who you think are weaker than you, hell, I've been here for over a year and all you managed to do are throw around the same four insults, so maybe if you put your nose in a book instead of using everyone else as punching bags, people would want to be your friend!" </p><p>Manny's eyelid twitches before he punches Jackson straight across the face. </p><p>Jackson falls to the ground from the sheer force of the blow, landing on his arm. The shock comes before the pain, a dull ache in his cheek along with a stinging on his bottom lip. Warmth turns to burning heat as the sickly taste of copper smoulders on his tongue and trickles down his chin. </p><p>"Watch your fucking mouth, Jekyll!" Manny booms, very obviously angry.</p><p>In a sick sort of way, Jackson takes a bit of satisfaction in knowing he struck a nerve. </p><p>"Why don't you take your own advice?" A very familiar voice calls from down the hallway.</p><p>Jackson glances up, pulling off his glasses in case Manny was hungry for round two. It's honestly a fucking miracle they haven't broken yet, they must be bombproof or some shit.</p><p>"Deuce, great to see you! Coming to rescue the damsel in distress?" </p><p>"Leave him alone, dude, you're gonna regret it if you don't," His voice is more of a warning rather than anger, yet Manny heeds none of it and just laughs obnoxiously.</p><p>"Are you kidding me?! I could fucking flatten you!" </p><p>Jackson can't see any of what's going on, but from the flash of green light and Manny going still as a stone, he has a pretty good guess.</p><p>"Got your shades back on?" Jackson asks, wary of putting on his glasses lest he become a lawn ornament.</p><p>"Yeah dude,"</p><p>He slips on the frame, relieved to see that Deuce was telling the truth and stands up slightly shakily.</p><p>"Should we get that lip cleaned? It's pretty bad,"</p><p>"Is it?"</p><p>"Yeah, it looks split,"</p><p>Jackson groans, the pain affirming Deuce's observation as he follows him to a bathroom.</p>
<hr/><p>Deuce pulls a pack of tissues from his bag and wets it under a faucet while he dabbed Jackson's lip, the cool water soothing the pain even if only slightly.</p><p>"Sorry, you don't need me to do this for you," Deuce laughs, handing Jackson the tissue. </p><p>Jackson observes himself in the over-the-sink mirror, analyzing his face for any serious damage for the second time in less than a week.</p><p>Deuce was absolutely right, his lip is split, along with that, his right cheek has a large violet bruise that's already beginning to swell, it almost looks comical. There's nothing life threatening though, the worst case scenario being that the cut lip get infected, but if he tends to it properly, that's unlikely to happen. </p><p>"Thanks by the way," Jackson pipes up, still cleaning up his blood.</p><p>"Hm? For what?"</p><p>"Whaddya think? For saving me from getting my lights punched out,"</p><p>Deuce chuckles to himself for a reason Jackson can't quite figure out. </p><p>"Anytime man, let's get some ice and eat lunch,"</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi im back from the dead. I know I was only gone for like a week but that's a month in internet time anyways y'all miss me? </p><p>I know this chapter is. a bit dark compared to the other three, but this is kinda the tone I want the fanfic to have. there wlli be moments like this and if that's not smth you're into. im sorry idk.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Deuce and Jackson both head home to their vastly different lives.</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE AND DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACKS, it isn't anything too bad, but if that sort of thing is a trigger for you, I would suggest proceeding with caution.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>again im sorry for disappearing and not updating as often. I do have this story planned out more or less but writer's block also decided to eat me alive so.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The golden light of the evening shines through Deuce's car windows. Normally, Deuce would find a thing such as this comforting, but he can't help but feel sick as the setting sun blinds him, even through his shades. He grimaces as he pulls up on his street, squeezing the wheel and tapping his thumbs in an erratic rhythm just to try and distract himself.</p><p> </p><p>He can feel his heart beating against his ribcage, making his chest vibrate. He doesn't know why he's so anxious, it's unlikely his mother is even home, but he finds his breath growing short no matter how much he tries to reassure himself and gulp down as much air as he can, it's dizzying and it makes him nauseous.</p><p> </p><p>The pressure in his chest only grows once he pulls into his driveway, turning his breaths shallow. He sees an incredibly familiar maroon corvette parked in the garage, and this only serves to make things worse for Deuce. Lady Luck really told him to go fuck himself, huh? It definitely isn't the first time she's screwed him over, but it's definitely getting old. Deuce all but slams his car door shut behind himself. Whatever, he can handle whatever she says to him, and with any luck she may not even say anything at all.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey mom," He mutters, tossing his keys on his table.</p><p> </p><p>"How was Mad Science?" He can practically sense her eyes narrowing beneath her shades, but he remains stoic as he takes a sip from his water bottle, his mouth is dry anyway.</p><p> </p><p>"Fine,"</p><p> </p><p>"Really? Fine? And that's why you're scraping by with a D-?" Her tone grows louder, Deuce says nothing and just clenches his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"Honest to god, it's like you're not even trying," She groans. This is infinitely worse than what Deuce expected, why the fuck isn't she yelling at him? She just sounds disappointed.</p><p> </p><p>"Mom--"</p><p> </p><p>"Go away, I don't want to look at you right now," Deuce drops the subject and just walks up the stairs, bringing his bag with him.</p><p> </p><p>His inhale is jagged as he sits at his desk, resting his head on the heels of his hands. He wants this day to be over, but it isn't even six, his mom sure as hell won't end things at just that, Deuce knows there's more to come.</p><p> </p><p>Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs is enough to make him shake, his heart pounding so heart he could hear it in his ears and feel it in his throat. He can't breathe, or blink, or move, he's frozen to the spot.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce tries to contain his bile once he hears his bedroom door creak open, accompanied by a chorus of angry hissing. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you still dating that mummy girl?"</p><p> </p><p>"She's got a name, and yes I am,"</p><p> </p><p>"Seriously? You're clearly favoring your highschool girlfriend over your studies, what the hell are you going to do when you graduate? You think you can play casketball your whole life? You need a fucking reality check,"</p><p> </p><p>"For god's sake mom, am I not allowed to be happy?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh give it up, Deuce, you're not as hard done by as you think you are,"</p><p> </p><p>"You're getting mad at me over--!"</p><p> </p><p>"Most students know how to do Mad Science, all you do is sit by and slack! I'm not asking much of you, get over yourself!" </p><p> </p><p>"Can you just leave me alone?!" </p><p> </p><p>"Depends," She hisses, "are you going to study?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes!" </p><p> </p><p>She scoffs, but turns to leave regardless, "Bull,"</p><p> </p><p>In her defense, she's kinda right, Deuce isn't about to study after this. He switches on his iCoffin and plays some music to drown everything out, resting his chin down on his desk and staring at absolutely nothing. Why he's so exhausted right now, he isn't sure. He'd guess he's just emotionally drained, after all his mother has a habit of being very draining, but he'd rather not admit how much a five foot two, centuries old gorgon's words tend to hurt him. Matter of fact, he'd just rather not think about what he was feeling at all. </p><p> </p><p>Tegan and Sara drifts from his phone as he bites back sobs. Why did he let her hurt him this way? Why was he so fucking weak?! He's almost an adult, he shouldn't be crying like this, <em>why the fuck can't he just be like--</em></p><p> </p><p>Deuce's phone buzzes, alerting him from his mental spiral.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Jackson</strong></span>: hey, so I kinda really wanna thank you for saving me from certain death</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: no need to thank me, manny's a prick</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Jackson</strong></span>: seriously, I owe you one. say the word and I'll do what I can</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: actually, there is something you can help me with</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong><span class="u">Jackson</span></strong>: name it</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: it's nothing huge, but do you think you could help me with mad science</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Jackson</strong></span>: oh yeah for sure</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Jackson</strong></span>: that's all?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: yeah that's all</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce almost cries from relief. Jackson helping him with Mad Science is sure to at least bump his grade up to a B, he doesn't know how on earth to thank him. His phone buzzes once more, this time from his mom telling him he can cook dinner for himself tonight, but in all honesty, he's too relieved to care. Greek salad was growing rather tiring anyways.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jackson has a laptop open to his right while writing quick bulleted notes to his left, all but forcing himself not to chew on the cut on his lip delivered by Manny hours earlier.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson had decided that since the doctors weren't clear on what was going on, he was going to figure it out himself. Obviously, such a thing wasn't going to be easy, but Jackson's natural spark for science is definitely handy for a lot of things, self discovery and paying back favors being a couple, so why not milk the shit out of it?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The Jekyll/Hyde condition is an enigma that has stumped doctors everywhere for centuries, mostly due to the rarity of the condition paired with the loss of Henry Jekyll's notes, it's near impossible to diagnose or treat. The only solution for many patients is institutionalization, many driven mad by their 'Hyde' side.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson narrows his eyes upon reading this paragraph, fascinated. Henry Jekyll was his maternal great-grandfather, so the notes had to be somewhere in his house, right? He can't see his family throwing something like that away unless it was for a very specific reason.</p><p> </p><p>A pit grows in Jackson's stomach upon remembering the atrocities his grandfather committed as Mr. Hyde. </p><p> </p><p>There has to be some way he can reverse engineer what happened all those years ago, or at least get better control over it. The fact that he was so in the dark about his own family infuriates Jackson to no end as he chews the eraser on his pencil, glaring at the screen of his laptop. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson is the descent of the posterboy mad scientist himself, he'll go to any fucking lengths to get to the bottom of this, and he'll be damned if he has to spend another day clueless about his own fucking condition, he swears it.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>jackson is a slightly unhinged teenage mad scientist and deuce has anxiety. thats it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson has an ego death.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a bit of a more lighthearted chapter to balance out the last couple which were kinda depressing. sorry lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jackson walks down a seemingly unending hallway, taking in what little of his surroundings he can gather. The floor is tile, the expensive kind of tile that always seems to be inexplicably polished, his sneakers squeak with every step he takes.</p><p> </p><p>Other than the floor, Jackson has no clue where he is or how he got here, so he pretty easily concludes that this is a dream. Which strikes him as odd, is it normal for him to be aware of his dreams? He can't seem to remember at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>Nonetheless, he continues on, head beginning to pound as he walks. There's an odd air of stagnation to the room, it's silent and bone cold, it leaves a pit of discomfort and unease to grow in Jackson's stomach, but he explores as much as he can, the sounds of Jackson walking against the tile filling the empty air with meaningless sound.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he's walked even about ten feet, Jackson's disoriented from his headache. It's not anything he can't handle, he's definitely had worse in his waking life, but it sure as hell makes trying to piece together a single thought harder. He leans his hand against a cool, flat surface, pressing his free hand against his temple. </p><p> </p><p>It always seemed to happen this way, whenever he needed answers to anything pertaining to himself, something always stopped him, be it his parents, his peers, his alter ego, or even his own damn bodily needs. Jackson was sick of it, it drove him mad.</p><p> </p><p>He's not sure if he's reacting this way because his general frustration is amplified by fatigue or if this rage has existed for years and he's just expert at keeping it bottled in the darkest depths of his subconscious, but Jackson starts to tremble with anger, breathing growing heavy as he tries to stop himself from doing something he knows he'll regret.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson is smart, Jackson is level-headed, Jackson is a genius, everyone who knows him tells him so. So why on fucking earth does he just want to destroy something? Pound everything around him into dust, so that even something inanimate will know how his entire seventeen years of life have felt for even just a few seconds.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson punches the wall in front of him with a roar clenched through his teeth, eyes wild and glasses askew on his face, breathing wild like a caged animal.</p><p> </p><p>"Not sure what it is you're trying to achieve, Jack," An amused voice drawls from what Jackson thinks is in front of him. Immediately embarrassed that somebody witnessed him effectively throw a temper tantrum, he looks around panicked, only to see a fire elemental sitting on the floor across from him.</p><p> </p><p>Upon closer inspection, Jackson realizes that he isn't physically there, he's a reflection, more specifically, Jackson's reflection. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson sits down across from him, looking him up and down. Aside from the blue skin and firey hair, paired with the rather eccentric fashion choices, him and Jackson look almost identical, down to the eyebrow piercing.</p><p> </p><p>"You're Holt, aren't you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Didn't take you long to figure that out," Even his voice sounds similar, save for delivery and tone. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you have any idea where we are?"</p><p> </p><p>"My guess is inside your head,"</p><p> </p><p>"That's unsurprisingly meta," Jackson muses. He's getting really tired of dealing with bizarre mental shit, especially lately. He should've just lied and said he got a hold of a fake that morning he woke up in the alley. Sure, he would've been grounded faster than he could apologize, but at least he wouldn't be dealing with quite literally being inside his subconscious.</p><p> </p><p>"I can kinda get why you hate me right now," Holt mutters, not letting his smile fade. Jackson isn't sure if he's trying to make him feel guilty, but if he is, it's sure as hell working.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't, I mean I wasn't exactly thrilled when I woke up near death a couple days ago," They both snicker, "but it's not hate, it never was," Jackson shifts his gaze downward, staring at the healing bruises decorating his knuckles, noticing that Holt has a matching set. "You're as much a part of me as I am of you, and obviously adjusting to sharing a body isn't going to be easy for either of us, but I mean, we're brothers, I don't think I could hate you,"</p><p> </p><p>Holt chuckles, but there's definitely a bit of hurt behind it. "That's real stupid, Jekyll,"</p><p> </p><p>"That's rich, coming from the guy who threatened to kill us over a <em>soundboard," </em></p><p> </p><p>They both laugh, be it over what Jackson said or the overall morbidity of their situation, neither knows, but it's funny as hell to both of them, and if you can't fix your problems, why not laugh at them?</p><p> </p><p>"What were you trying to do earlier, by the way?" Holt asks once their laughter slows, catching Jackson off guard.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"You were reading about the Jekyll/Hyde condition, right? What was that about?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson sighs, reminded of the stewing anger as he glared daggers at his laptop screen. "I just wanted to know what our condition even is, but I couldn't find anything I don't already know,"</p><p> </p><p>"Why not look through grandpa's notes?" </p><p> </p><p>It feels weird to Jackson, hearing somebody he didn't know existed until two days ago refer to his grandfather with a familial term.</p><p> </p><p>"That's the thing, I dunno where they are," </p><p> </p><p>"I remember mom mentioning them at one point, I think she still has them somewhere, but she got super shady when I asked her where,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson doesn't have to wonder long why that may be. What her grandfather had done is the bane of his mother's existence and she avoided talking about it in whatever way possible whenever it was brought up. Not that Jackson can really blame her.</p><p> </p><p>"So, what do I do?"</p><p> </p><p>"Easy," Holy shrugs, "snoop,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'd rather live, I'd like to think I've got a few years left in me," </p><p> </p><p>"You will live-- just don't get caught,"</p><p> </p><p>"How often do you do shit like this?" </p><p> </p><p>Holt shrugs once more, fiddling with the headphones resting loosely on his neck. "Often enough, I guess,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can only sigh, surprised that he's surprised. Before he can chastise Holt like he normally would in a situation like this, he awakes to his phone vibrating inches away from his head, which is on its side on his desk.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson sits up groggily, wiping his saliva off of his cheek. For a few seconds, he isn't sure what time it is, and when he picks up his phone, all he can see is Frankie's contact picture, her smiling goofily as she wears a Casta Fierce band shirt that's far too large for her tiny, green body.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can't help it, he grins like an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Frankie, what's up?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hey! I just wanted to call you since I didn't see you at all today,"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah yeah, it's a bit of a long story, I had a doctor's appointment this morning and then when I came back to school, Manny decided I got too comfortable existing and punched the crap outta me,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my ghoul, are you okay?"</p><p> </p><p>The monster dialect always cracks a smile out of him, especially how out of place it sounds in Frankie's peppy voice.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, my lip is cut and I've got a bit of a bruise, but I'll be okay,"</p><p> </p><p>"That sounds ghastly, but I'm glad you're alright," She muses, "I could've stepped in,"</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce did, actually, luckily before anything too terrible happened,"</p><p> </p><p>"Thank goodness," Frankie almost sounds relieved. "what have you been up to, by the way? I texted a bunch of times and you didn't respond,"</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, shit, really? I was actually asleep, sorry about that,"</p><p> </p><p>"Don't apologize, I'm sorry for waking you up!" She laughs pleasantly, "I'd better get going, I have dead languages homework I have to work on," Her jovial tone fades and Jackson grins. </p><p> </p><p>"See you, Frankie," </p><p> </p><p>The phone hangs up.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can admit he's always been a bit attracted to Frankie, she's cute and sweet and surprisingly really tough. They almost dated for a bit during his first year at Monster High, but they never really became an official item. </p><p> </p><p>Thinking about his less than stellar love life bums Jackson out, so he tries to focus on something else, namely the smell of food drifting from downstairs, almost comically drawing him out of his room to follow the source of the smell.</p><p> </p><p>He walks down the stairs as he tries to work a crick out of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You'd really think I'd learn to stop falling asleep at my desk,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson steps into the kitchen, looking to see his mom making dinner.</p><p> </p><p>"You're alive!" She booms, grinning ear to ear, juxtaposed by Jackson looking like he'd crawled out of a freshly dug grave. </p><p> </p><p>"In the loosest sense of the word," Jackson mutters, fatigue and hunger crashing into him as he sits at the table, resting his chin in his hand. </p><p> </p><p>His phone lights up with a message alert from Frankie, telling him to take it easy these next few days, accompanied by a few heart emojis. Jackson smiles, before a voice that definitely isn't his says something to him, making his heart jump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"She's cute, isn't she?"</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>honestly writing jackson's dialogue is probably my favorite part of this entire thing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson has a horrifying realization.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pretty much jackson being jackson and deuce being oblivious to all of this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The halls of Monster high were never a good place to be if you were trying to get any sort of studying done. The same can be argued for normie schools, technically, but the extent is greater when this school is pretty much a harbinger of bizarre, supernatural chaos. Jackson had been sitting in a corner he'd hoped would be quiet, but so far no luck on his end. It's already halfway through his free period, but he hasn't gotten any research done on his condition, so he chalks it up to a major bust and just walks toward the library, hoping it'll at least be quiet there.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson huffs as he scoops up his papers and haphazardly stuffs them into his bag, not bothering to organize them as he normally would and picks up his laptop and rests it under his arm, striding off to his destination.</p><p> </p><p>Him and Holt had developed a method of communication that seems to work, at the very least they can understand what the other is trying to get across when not hosting at the moment, so far so good, Jackson supposes.</p><p> </p><p>Holt asks where exactly the two are headed, Jackson tells him they're going to the library, Holt seems unenthused. Jackson has learned quite a bit about Holt over a short period of time, the most apparent being that he seems to despise anything he deems boring. Jackson doesn't always like doing this himself, but he seems to end up with the burden anyway. He doesn't seem to mind it too much, even if learning about his family's history was depressing and time consuming, Jackson can't deny it's intriguing.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson already knows the story of his family, he learned it much too young, his great grandfather had split his two sides, good and evil, in an attempt to kill the evil side. If the same could be done for every human, then there would be absolutely no bad in the world.</p><p> </p><p>It was so idealistic for such a thing that ended as tragically as it did, it almost always makes Jackson sick.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson pushes open the library door with his shoulder, looking around the vast, dark space for a quiet area to research, preferably one that would keep him out of sight.</p><p> </p><p>He finds a small clearing in the seemingly endless scattering of bookshelves and ducks behind there, attempting to organize his things in such a way he can fall back into the rhythm he was in before he got distracted.</p><p> </p><p>The next few minutes are spent studying, finding every obscure article, hoping to find any new bit of information, anything he could have missed, but the more paragraphs he reads in the glaring LED screen, the more his eyes just want to droop closed.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson indulges and closes them for a few seconds, groggily opening them when he feels someone gently nudging his arm.</p><p> </p><p>"Dude, I've been trying to wake you up for like, ten minutes," Okay, so he'd slept for ten minutes, not too bad, "Where were you all of class? I didn't see you during mad science,"</p><p> </p><p>Shit.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson would normally panic at having slept through an entire hour long class, but right now he doesn't give a shit. Rather, he's too tired to. Even with how exhausted he is, he's well aware the panic will come later.</p><p> </p><p>"Wassup, how'd you know I'd be here?"</p><p> </p><p>"You usually come here when you need to study," Deuce shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>"What class is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"School's over dude,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson grunts. That's fucking stellar.</p><p> </p><p>"I was actually gonna ask if you wanna do DnD with me and some friends,"</p><p> </p><p>"Mhm, sure when?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uhhhm," Deuce pauses, "well I was gonna ask if you want to go… today,"</p><p> </p><p>"What time?"</p><p> </p><p>"I can pick you up at five,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson shrugs, it's not like he has anything planned, and DnD sounds significantly less depressing than researching his grandfather's sins that he was now paying for.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, who's it with?" Despite nostalgia, Jackson's well aware that not everyone at school is too keen on Jackson, even if they never outwardly said it.</p><p> </p><p>"Nobody you don't know, me, Clawd, Gil, and Heath,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, yeah sure that sounds fine then,"</p><p> </p><p>"Great," Deuce helps Jackson gather his bearings, both walking off in seperate directions once they leave the school campus, Deuce hesitates for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you want a ride home?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson looks confused, immediately uncertain on what his angle is, or maybe that's Holt? He still isn't sure how this whole thing really works.</p><p> </p><p>"If you want to,"</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, remind me of your address?"</p>
<hr/><p>Jackson is now wired from his nap, making idle conversation with Deuce while he texts his mom saying he's going to Heath's later, praying she didn't have an impromptu doctor or therapy appointment scheduled.</p><p> </p><p>"You ever played DnD, by the way?" Deuce pipes from the driver's, fiddling with his hood, trying to get his snakes to cooperate with him.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I've been campaigning since I was 12, I've even DM'd a few times," Jackson laughs as he fiddles idly with his piercing, a nervous habit he'd picked up a few years ago. "I prefer not doing that though, since I'm not always the most creative when it comes to coming up with scenarios,"</p><p> </p><p>"Guess we don't have to explain then," Deuce laughs as a warm expression shows on his face. Jackson's confused, he could be reading far too into this, but something about Deuce's expression almost reads as… tender?</p><p> </p><p>Jackson shakes his head, ignoring everything and dismissing himself as just being overtired. He messes around with his eyebrow ring even more, just to give himself something to think about other than Deuce.</p><p> </p><p>"I've always wanted to ask about that," Deuce mumbles, gaze shifting over to Jackson. The lenses of his glasses are translucent enough that Jackson can still somewhat see his eyes, and Deuce's gaze on him makes him grow uneasy, his thoughts suddenly shifting back to the day before in the bathroom, the slight jolt he got when Deuce dabbed the tissue on his lip.</p><p> </p><p>"Hm? About what?" Jackson tries desperately not to let his tone betray his words.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, just about the piercing, you don't seem like the type of person to get something like that,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh god, I got this freshman year, it was mostly a bet that I'd lost with a couple of my friends,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce can't help it, he laughs. "What the hell kind of bet was that?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's such a stupid story, so my old highschool has these really dumb rules, like you can't go to the bathroom without being escorted by a teacher, can't use the vending machines during class periods, you have to be in certain places if you have a spare period, et cetera, right? So my two friends-- Chad and Claire, came up with this idea to see how many of these stupid rules we could break without getting caught, this went on for five months until I ended up losing because this one girl ratted on me, so they tried to come up with something I would never realistically do," Jackson gently flicks the silver ring going through his eyebrow. "I was gonna take it out after a while, but I mean hey, if Claire and I dating for a year and a half is any indication, it suited my face a little bit,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce is surprisingly taken aback by this, it's not like he thinks Jackson doesn't have any game when he's easily one of the most charismatic people Deuce knows, he just had no idea Jackson had a girlfriend at one point until now.</p><p> </p><p>Weirdly enough, there's not a lot he doesn't know about Jackson, matter of fact, the mental list is incredibly short,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson Jekyll: likes macaroni, had a girlfriend freshman year, got his eyebrow piercing from a lost bet, played DnD in middle school,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>How did Deuce manage to be friends with Jackson for this long without learning a single significant thing about him beyond superficiality? Moreover, why does Deuce feel guilty?</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce? You okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry,"</p><p> </p><p>"I've been tempted to get more, but not only do I not have the money, I don't have the pain tolerance," Jackson chuckles, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread hanging off of his vest</p><p> </p><p>"Which ones?"</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe a nose piercing, or a cartilage,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce shifts his head, conjuring the mental image. "I think it'd look good, they'd definitely suit your face shape,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson has to ask why that comment makes his chest feel light. The breath catching in his throat and heat rush being indicative of fluster.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck!</em> Jackson screams internally, <em>fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCKKKKKKK!!</em></p><p> </p><p>Jackson is familiar with what the goosebumps from the compliment mean, and he tries his hardest to ignore it. This isn't happening, this literally cannot be happening, he doesn't have a crush on Deuce, he's overtired and got flattered by the out of pocket compliment, that's all. That's all.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, maybe I will," Jackson's mouth is dry.</p><p> </p><p>"You'd better take me once you do,"</p><p> </p><p>"It's just going to be an hour or so of me trying not to cry, so if that's what you're up for, then sure," Jackson cringes at how awkward he sounds. "Oh, uh, missed my street,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh? Oh, shit, sorry," Deuce pulls a quick U-turn and pulls up in front of Jackson's house, turning to face him. "Pick you up at four thirty?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson tries not to think of how it almost sounds like he's being asked on a date</p><p> </p><p><em>Stop, stop</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, for sure, do I need to bring anything?"</p><p> </p><p>"Your own dice,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson laughs as he gets out of the car, "Capiche," </p><p> </p><p>Him and Deuce wave goodbye as Deuce drives off, leaving Jackson to stand there alone, his mind now left to panic over crushing on his best friend who is definitely straight and also dating someone else.</p><p> </p><p>Screw his GPA, Jackson feels like quite possibly the biggest dumbass alive.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>peep the namedrop</p><p>also why does "school's over dude" have the same energy as "the doctor's GONE" from the one john mulaney bit</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is pretty much a direct continuation of the last chapter.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>its really picking up speed guys owo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It was a stupid game of seven minutes in heaven that Jackson had been a part of two fucking years ago.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was a party, the typical party you see in every PG-13 teen movie with the red Solo cups scattered like confetti and the thick stench of beer hanging over everyone in the room. Jackson wasn't sure about going, but his friends urged him to, promising left and right that it would be fun.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And it was! Jackson had a good time and got reasonably tipsy, even going as far as to join an ongoing game of seven minutes in heaven. Him and Chad got told to go into the closet for seven minutes, and Jackson was immediately squicked out from the idea of making out with another male. Chad assured him up and down that the idea of experimenting with another guy didn't bother him in the slightest, especially if it was Jackson.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson agreed and the two were an entangled, sloppy mess for the next seven minutes, wiping their mouths and readjusting their clothes once the timer went off.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was after that stupid game at that stupid party and stupid Chad's stupid amount of experience that made Jackson realize that no, he is definitely not straight.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Honestly, Jackson finds himself to this day wishing he'd dismissed it back then as a write off. Even using the stupidest excuse like too much alcohol or friction or just the damn need to be physically close to someone after so many years of his peers fucking hating him. But no, he knows that he couldn't have lied to himself forever. Even if he never had inclinations toward Chad, he had inclinations toward other guys his age, Deuce now being the newest notch on that sad, pathetic belt.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson doesn't hate himself for being bi-- he just hates himself for being an apparent glutton for heartbreak and blue funks, as well as his type so far being 'a straight guy who didn't try and beat the shit out of me for being gay and showed me an iota of kindness'.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jesus, maybe I need the therapy as much as mom thinks I do, because this is just fucking sad at this point.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He almost doesn't want to go to the game in an hour, but he's cancelled plans with Deuce countless times and while it never fails to make him feel like an asshole, he feels especially guilty about the idea of shutting Deuce out because of something that wasn't directly his fault. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson stares at the years old star stickers clumsily affixed to his popcorn ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why did he bother playing casketball with me that day?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He slaps himself in the cheeks and sits up swiftly, ignoring the thought that was sure to turn into a mood ruining brood. No time to think about that now, Jackson needs to find his dice, plus that spare character sheet he carries around in case a situation like this were to pop up.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Alrighty Jackie, roll for initiative," Heath taunts, taking a swig of beer.</p><p> </p><p>"'Ey," Jackson cuffs his cousin's head, sporting a false glare. "there's only one person who can call me that,"</p><p> </p><p>"Mhm, who is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"My fuckin' mommy," </p><p> </p><p>All five laugh at that.</p><p> </p><p>The game had been going well for a few hours, Heath is actually an amazing DM, much to Jackson's shock, and the beer gradually tasted less and less disgusting the more they all drank. Soon enough, Jackson's distinguished facade had come crashing down and now they're playing a nonsensical, drunk game of Dungeons and Dragons, all laughing hysterically at every scenario Heath had brought forward.</p><p> </p><p>Boundaries had slipped along with their sobriety, Jackson was pretty much lying in Deuce's lap at this point, serving function to him as an armrest. Even if he has enough sense not to admit it out loud, being in someone's lap makes him feel comforted in a way he hasn't before. If he wasn't so wired, he could almost fall asleep. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck it, he can let himself have this, right? Be physically close with one of the few people who can stand him, it's not like he really had the opportunity to be doted on when it didn't feed people's saviour mentalities.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes and thinks of Claire and how she'd do this for him on occasion, let him fall asleep on her lap and twirl her fingers in his hair, much like how Deuce was doing now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wait, hold up,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's eyes flutter open lazily, Deuce is idly stroking his fingers along Jackson's scalp, he doubts Deuce even realizes he's doing it, but it feels rather nice. Jackson closes his eyes once more, dozing off to the feeling of Deuce's fingers entwined in his hair.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Jackson?" It's Deuce's soft alto that wakes him, raspy with fatigue. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until just now, the familiar feeling of blood rushing back to his sleeping muscles making his expression twist to that of discomfort.</p><p> </p><p>"How many times am I gonna fall asleep in front of you," Jackson mumbles drowsily, adding a half-hearted laugh at the end of his sentence. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, it's fine," Deuce shrugs, obviously not sober.</p><p> </p><p>"Where'd everyone else go?" </p><p> </p><p>"They're in the kitchen eating, Clawd and Heath are trying to make burgers, and by that I mean Clawd took a half pound of ground beef kept in the freezer and Heath is cooking it with… himself," Jackson laughs despite his fatigue.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, that sounds like him," He pauses, "How long was I asleep for?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not long, twenty minutes or so,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry,"</p><p> </p><p>"It's fine, I really don't mind and nobody else cared," Jackson refuses to look at Deuce and instead focuses his gaze on the carpet's grain, jolting when he feels Deuce shuffle closer to him, "you know, you're allowed to be vulnerable in front of other people, myself included,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson says nothing, Deuce continues, "letting other people take care of you doesn't make you weak, you just need to cut yourself some,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson gives Deuce a look of bemusement, "Cut myself some what?"</p><p> </p><p>"Slack," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson hopes the sheer force in which he's using to bite down on his lip is enough to distract him from the absolute turmoil of emotions flooding through his mind right now.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, Deuce, it's nice to hear that once in a while," Jackson's tone betrays absolutely no emotion, but Deuce can tell he's being genuine.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Deuce's phone buzzes, a simple alert from his mother asking him where the fuck he is.</p><p> </p><p>"Shit, I gotta get home," Deuce's voice is barely above a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>"I can come with you," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce raises an eyebrow, "You're sure? You're uh, pretty drunk dude," </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not gonna <em>drive</em>, bonehead, from here to your place is a fifteen minute walk,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce shifts in an attempt to wake up his legs, "Are you sure? It's eleven p.m."</p><p> </p><p>Jackson shrugs, holding out a hand to help Deuce up, "What's the worst that could happen?"</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im gonna be honest I had no idea how to end this</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>early readers remember the prev chapter</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>small warning for visceral descriptions of blood n vomit n stuff. possibly triggering? more gross than anything tho.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Jackson!" Jackson can hardly hear him over the blood pounding in his ears, every part of him screaming at him to run.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>"What a sweet, normie couple," A voice from behind the two of them drawled nastily as they walked down a dark alleyway. Upon turning around to the source, two gargoyles stood behind them, staring at Jackson and Deuce with cruel grins on their faces.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A pit grows in Jackson's stomach, he knows neither of these guys have good intentions, but Deuce keeps his cool.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Hey dudes, we don't want any trouble," Deuce lowers his hood, his snakes hissing accordingly.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Protecting your boyfriend? How romantic," </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Deuce, we've gotta go," Jackson hisses through his teeth, but Deuce ignores him and just lifts his shades.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nothing happens.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One of the gargoyles, who's wearing a Granite City varsity, lets out a short bark of laughter. "Sorry to break it to you, gorgon," He grabs Deuce by the collar, grinning at his fearful expression, "your vision doesn't work on us," </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He doesn't know where he's going, he doesn't know how long he's been running for, he doesn't even realize he's effectively suffocating until Deuce calls his name once more.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, please, slow down!"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce's pleas fall on deaf ears, Jackson finds a small gap between two buildings, just wide enough for the two to fit into.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Perfect.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson pulls Deuce along with him into this gap, finding it is a bit small, the two are pretty much wedged chest to chest, but as long as they can get away from their attackers, they're safe.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>Jaw, nose, lip, all of it. All of it is covered in his own coppery, fatty smelling blood. Deuce is who the hell knows where and Jackson's face feels damn near irreparable, the only fleeting thought he has in what very well could be his final moments is </em>holy shit mom'll have a field day with the bubble-wrapping after this.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe he deserves this untimely death if that's the most profound of thoughts he can muster.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Hey," </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson doesn't respond, just spits out more bloody mucus that's gathered in his mouth.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>His jaw is gripped tighter.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Fucking answer me when I talk to you!" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"What do you want me to say?" He feels a small amount of pride in the way his voice refuses to waver even now. If Jackson motherfucking Jekyll has to die, he's dying with fucking dignity.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I was gonna offer a boon,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Kill me or don't, that's my answer,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>His attacker just delivers another laugh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"You haven't even heard it yet,"</em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson's fearless bravado bites the dust the second he hears a fly unzip.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"C'mon, don't give me that look, it's not like this isn't something you're used to,"</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Jackson, hey," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce rests a hand on Jackson's chest, doing what he can to ground him. Once he meets Deuce's gaze-- somewhat-- Deuce sucks in a breath.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's face is an absolute mess. Covered in blood that had dried in only some areas, his glasses aren't salvageable, the lenses shattered and arms bent. Deuce feels the harrowing sensation of guilt grow in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>"We're okay now," </p><p> </p><p>All the adrenaline and fear Jackson had been feeling comes to a screeching halt as he starts trying to catch his breath, finding that this is far easier said than done. Bloody mucus that had dripped from his sinuses to his throat drips from his mouth as he begins to let out wet coughs.</p><p> </p><p>Coughs turn into gags as he doubles over, panic setting in and gulping down as much air as he possibly can.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, Jackson <em>hey--</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"'M fine," It's moments like these where he wishes he hadn't stopped carrying around his Ventalin, though it would likely be akin to cleaning a flood with a tissue when adding in phlegm as a factor, as of right now, he may as well be drowning.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Do you do shit like this regularly?!" Jackson's struggling a hell of a lot more now, fight or flight responses switching and forced into overdrive, simultaneously strategizing on how to get out while using what little strength he has left.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>His question remains unanswered.</em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Shut the hell up and get to it,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A quick bark of laughter and then a swift kick to the groin.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Like hell!"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson doesn't remember the next few seconds, somehow time seems to be both slowed and sped up as he grabs Deuce's wrist and runs.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Either he's coughed everything up or he was just able to find a window where he could successfully get his breath back. Jackson stands, dizzy from what could be blood loss, alcohol, concussion, shock…</p><p> </p><p>The mental list of possibilities is too tiring to think about right now.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson gets a look at Deuce. His nose is bloody, but nowhere near broken, his shades are cracked, but that's about it, thank god.</p><p> </p><p>Despite being nowhere near the state he's in, Jackson feels a wave of guilt seeing Deuce like this. </p><p> </p><p>"Damn it, I'm sorry, are you okay?" Jackson's voice is growing slightly more steady, and he rests a hand on Deuce's shoulder, almost to make sure he's real and there and momentarily safe.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm fine, you're looking worse," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson shrugs, laughing bitterly. "Manny's done worse, I'll be fine," Manny's bullying was practically a pillow fight compared to what just happened, they both know this, but Jackson isn't about to make the situation worse than it already is.</p><p> </p><p>"I can't believe that just happened," Deuce mumbles, mostly to himself.</p><p> </p><p>"Me neither," A spark of panic shoots through Jackson, remembering what they tried to do to him. </p><p> </p><p>The small spark turns into a wave of emotions he can't name, nor has he felt before. He feels weak and he can't stop himself from doubling over once more and retching on the concrete. He doesn't stop vomiting for a good five or so minutes, the acidity making his throat feel like it's on fire while the splatters of his vomit hitting the road are the only noise between them both. </p><p> </p><p>Once he's either gathered his senses or emptied his stomach's contents, Jackson stands up straight to see Deuce looking frantic.</p><p> </p><p>"That, uh-- that was gross,"</p><p> </p><p>"You need a hospital,"</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce, it's just from shock, it's…" Jackson can't really make a good case for himself anymore, matter of fact he's not really sure why he bothered in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket, checking the time and seeing that it's well past midnight.</p><p> </p><p>"Shit," He breathes.</p><p> </p><p>"What's up?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's twelve thirty,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce goes still, "My mom's gonna kill me,"</p><p> </p><p>"You should call her," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce gulps down his nerves as he pulls his phone from his own pocket, dialing his mom.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey--"</p><p> </p><p>"What the <em>fuck</em>, Deuce, where have you been! Do you have any idea the time right now?!"</p><p> </p><p>"I promise I meant to come home earlier, Jackson tried walking me home, but we got jumped on the way there,"</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson? That little normie kid?" </p><p> </p><p>"Please stop calling him that,"</p><p> </p><p>"You're okay though," Medusa muses, if she's concerned, none of it shows in her voice. "nothing life threatening?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, not on my end at least,"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you coming home before tomorrow?"</p><p> </p><p>"I-I dunno, I mean, I'm not entirely sure where we are right now…" Deuce gathers his surroundings, but they look entirely unfamiliar. Jackson winces, a sudden spike of guilt upon realizing he did just take them to god knows the fuck where.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, it was either that or have the last of my dignity taken from me in an alley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Fine, text me once you know. I'll see you when I see you," She hangs up and Deuce slides his phone back into his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>"I know where we are, it's actually a normie neighborhood about five-ish blocks from my place, I think it would be best to hole up there for the night instead of risking another run-in,"</p><p> </p><p>"That's a smart idea," Deuce wants to help Jackson with anything he may need, but aside from being a little shaken, he seems completely fine as they walk toward his house. Suddenly his memories shift back to when he had to pick up Jackson from the alley,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I'm okay, Deuce, a scrape on my face and a few aches aren't gonna kill me,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Obviously, the situation is different in a major way, but he knows that Jackson hates being unnecessarily doted on, and he wants to respect that, even if showing concern in this situation is far from unnecessary.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, I'm really sorry,"</p><p> </p><p>"Please don't apologize, this isn't your fault," </p><p> </p><p>"If I had just--"</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce," Jackson's tone is crisp as he turns to face him. "I'm okay, I know what happened was scary, and I'm not gonna lie, I was fucking terrified, but what matters right now is we're okay,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce chest grows too tight for words, and despite himself, he feels tears drip down his cheeks. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson takes both of his hands and squeezes them gently, he's not sure what he's trying to do, what fears he's trying to alleviate, but it seems to work.</p><p> </p><p>"Right now we're okay," Jackson repeats as he pulls Deuce into a hug, feeling the tears wet his shoulder, "we're gonna go home and we'll be safe, I promise,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson hasn't ever seen Deuce cry like this, it's obviously a delayed shock reaction, similar to his vomiting only minutes ago, but there's something so oddly cathartic about Deuce's soft sobs, mainly the fact that Jackson has no idea the exact cause, or if there even is one. </p><p> </p><p>The embrace is relieving for them both, and they stand there for a good few minutes until Deuce's sobbing dies down, Jackson wiping his tears with his fingers and leading the rest of the way back to his house.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so yeah I bet this isn't the direction you thought this was gonna go in LOL</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Deuce has a nightmare, then a heart to heart with Jackson's mother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content warning for detailed graphic injury at the very beginning. it's not very long and it's also a nightmare sequence so idk if I should bother tagging it or not just skim past it if it squicks you out. i put some cool symbolism you can try and figure it out if u want im not 100% sure of what it means myself honestly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Deuce rubs his hands on his face, eyes widening in shock upon realizing he isn't wearing his shades. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, shit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>All he can hope is there's nobody around, along with no reflective surfaces as he walks down this seemingly never-ending alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>This place looks familiar, far far too familiar. The further along he walks he begins to notice small splatters of blood decorating the asphalt, which grows into pools, eventually turning to a river soaking his shoes. The air is coppery and smells of rotting flesh, sticking in his lungs and throat, like spoiled honey, yet seemingly against his own will, Deuce continues.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, the alley ends, but what awaits him once it does isn't pleasant, it's horrifying.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson sits with his knees to his chest, throat slit open and wounded everywhere Deuce can see, caked in dirt and blood, tears soaking his cheeks yet his smile looks peaceful, happy that whatever event that caused him to end up in this state is finally over.</p><p> </p><p>Then, he speaks.</p><p> </p><p>"Lonely man, lives in a lonely house, lives alone from all he loves," Jackson is barely able to speak, every word a sickening gurgle as his exposed vocal chords flutter from the open wound. He isn't really talking per se, more like half singing to an uneven tune. It sends chills down Deuce's spine. </p><p> </p><p>"Put on a shell to hide, couldn't keep the mask," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson turns to Deuce and looks him dead in the eyes. The normal sky blue of his irises are glassy and glazed over, completely lifeless and unblinking.</p><p> </p><p>"All he gave wasn't enough, and now he's truly alone," </p><p> </p><p>Immediately aware of Jackson's implications, he reaches to grab Jackson's arm, but that only seems to make matters worse when he lets out a piercing screech of agony, unravelling into glittering gold gauze before Deuce's eyes.</p><hr/><p>Deuce wakes up in nothing short of a cold sweat, trying to force himself not to jump to the worst possible conclusion that Jackson is dead, after all he's asleep in the bed near him, both of them are safe, both of them are <em>safe</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When the two made it back to Jackson's place, Henrietta Jekyll was, understandably, frantic at finding her son and his best friend coated in blood. Jackson's reaction when asked for an explanation really didn't help either, since he started laughing hysterically while explaining what happened in the alley, to the best of his ability, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Henrietta was shocked, who wouldn't be, but she tended to both of their wounds and made them hot cocoa before sending them off to bed, pumping up an air mattress for Deuce to sleep on.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce sits up, observing Jackson as he sleeps peacefully. He's safe.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No thanks to you, idiot.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce tries to be as quiet as possible as he fumbles for his shades and phone, squinting at the bright light.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>5:06 a.m.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He moves to their bathroom, staring at his now clean face. </p><p> </p><p>A bruise or two decorates his face, but it's absolutely nothing compared to what happened to Jackson, which only makes Deuce feel infinitely worse. He'd done absolutely nothing to help him, only able to watch helplessly. It's a miracle of biblical proportions that they even managed to get out of that alive. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce gulps down bile as he makes his way down the staircase to the kitchen, wincing when the floor creaks beneath him. It's doubtful he's gonna be able to get any more sleep, he's grateful that he managed to get any, restless as it was. </p><p> </p><p>A set of footsteps coming down the staircase makes an already ansty Deuce jump, but it's only Mrs. Jekyll, half awake and mildly confused.</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce hon? Are you alright?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, of course, I'm…" Normally delivering a white lie to an adult was reflex, but something about Henrietta makes Deuce feel uneasy in a way that's foreign to him. She's not intimidating in the slightest, matter of fact he feels so exposed to her for the complete opposite reason; she's warm and kind for seemingly no reason. He's never had a proper interaction with her outside of pleasantries, Deuce can't figure out why she would treat a complete stranger with such hospitality, especially considering he's part of the reason her son could've died.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't push it like he expects her to, instead walks to a cabinet and pulls down a mug, hand hovering over a second, "Do you drink coffee?"</p><p> </p><p>"Y-Yeah," </p><p> </p><p>"Would you like me to make you a cup?" </p><p> </p><p>"If it's not too much trouble," </p><p> </p><p>She says nothing but pulls down another mug as she starts the coffee maker.</p><p> </p><p>This isn't the first time Deuce has thought this, but Jackson definitely took after his mother in terms of looks. He has the same blue eyes and the same slightly messy jet black hair, as well as the spattering of barely visible freckles across their cheeks and arms, hell, both their glasses frame their faces in the exact same way. </p><p> </p><p>"Sorry if I woke you up," </p><p> </p><p>"Nonsense, I have to leave for work soon," She leans against the counter while looking directly at Deuce, in which he instantly shifts his gaze away. "How come you're up this early?" </p><p> </p><p>"Bad dream," </p><p> </p><p>It's not really a lie.</p><p> </p><p>Henrietta hums in understanding, "I would imagine," A beat of silence, "are you doing okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"My face is kinda sore,"</p><p> </p><p>"Mentally?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why are you asking me? You should be pissed, I'm the reason your son almost died.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When Deuce is silent for too long, Henrietta starts again, "Deuce, I'm a social worker, it's my job to help kids and teens who've been in terrible situations, whatever's bothering you, be it from earlier or anything else, you can tell me," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stop, stop it, you're gonna hurt me, you're gonna yell at me, you wouldn't want me to tell you something if you didn't have an ulterior motive,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"It's not a big deal, really, I just can't help but feel like what happened to Jackson was… kind of a result of my negligence," The last thing he's about to say to this woman is that he feels like a shit friend for letting Jackson nearly fucking die, doctorate or not.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean by negligence?"</p><p> </p><p>"Poor time management, like if I had left earlier we could've avoided it," </p><p> </p><p>She nods, considering Deuce's words for a moment while she pours their coffee.</p><p> </p><p>"Cream or sugar?"</p><p> </p><p>"Just sugar please,"</p><p> </p><p>She scoops a couple spoonfuls into Deuce's mug before placing it in front of him gently.</p><p> </p><p>"I know it's easy to feel like someone you care about getting hurt is your fault, hell when you two came back here I went through my fair share of guilt, but even if that is true, kicking yourself over what could have been done will only make it hurt more," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You should hate me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hon, you're a teenager, and you're gonna screw up on occasion, but I promise you that there's very little you could have done, and the fault of what happened lies solely on the gargoyles that attacked you two, you're fine, okay?" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce looks up at Henrietta to see her smiling warmly. She walks over and rests a hand on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm gonna go get ready for work, alright? Stay as long as you like," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why don't you hate me?</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i wasnt ok when i wrote this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jackson is a nerd but like in a spooky, unhinged way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>best boy makes an appearance in the middle. wont b the last of him I swear. idk if I should add a tw for mentions of medication but its not like drug use dw. uhh also i do have adhd so i based the descriptions of that partially on how i act but i've never been prescribed adderall so i only know what i researched, but i cant guarantee how accurate it really is. tl;dr, dont yell @ me pls.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week had passed since the incident in the alley, and both Jackson and Deuce tried hard to ignore it and move on. Obviously such things aren't easy, but they managed to get by without talking about it, discussing next week's DnD session and other such things. Jackson suffered a nose break and a mandible fracture, but otherwise he wasn't doing too bad.</p><p> </p><p>Well, the last few sleeps he'd had were restless and nightmare filled, but it could definitely be a whole lot worse.</p><p> </p><p>As of right now, he's lying in bed glaring at his ceiling and waiting for his damn alarm to go off. He doesn't have to be up for another twenty minutes but his body doesn't seem to care much. It's not like it did before really, he's been lying in bed trying to sleep for almost three hours.</p><p> </p><p>Insomnia really fucking sucks sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Ultimately concluding that trying to sleep is a major fucking bust, he rolls out of bed and pulls on his glasses, unplugs his phone and slumps down the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>His mother must've left for work already for an early shift, which isn't super surprising. His father sits on an armchair, cup of coffee in one hand and scrolling on a tablet with the other. He looks up at Jackson, eyes widening in bemusement.</p><p> </p><p>"You're up early,"</p><p> </p><p>"Wasn't able to sleep much," Jackson grumbles, pouring himself a cup of coffee and pulling down a pill bottle before realizing the latter is empty.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey dad?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mhm?" </p><p> </p><p>"Can you grab me a refill on my adderall later? I'm out,"</p><p> </p><p>"Shit, sure thing," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson takes a hearty swig of the scalding coffee, wincing slightly when it burns his throat. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Today is definitely gonna be horrible.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Jackson is about two seconds away from collapsing in on himself like a dying star. Usually missing a single dose of his medication didn't have side effects such as this, but paired with what happened barely two days ago, paying attention in even his favorite class is proving to be less of a task and more like some kind of bizarre extreme sport.</p><p> </p><p>He can't even focus on the chalkboard at the front of the room, eyes glazing over and Mister Hack's usual visceral tone turning to nothing but white noise as he tries anything to keep his focus, eventually turning to extreme clicking of his pen. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It's just note taking, you've accomplished harder you piece of shit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's gaze flicks to his notebook, in which all he'd written down was <em>Chemical Formulas for Emergency Boogey Sand Reversal?</em></p><p> </p><p>Even that feels like some kind of foreign language, what the fuck is boogey sand? Does it have to do with the boogeyman? Why does it need to be reversed?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck it, I'll ask Twyla or something. She'll know.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Someone sitting near Jackson jabs his shoulder, harshly. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you mind? I can't focus," A blue-skinned boy with swept ocean hair, wearing a cyan toque. Jackson recognizes him somewhat, he doesn't know his name. </p><p> </p><p>"Sorry," Jackson mumbles, putting down his pen and pulling a wooden pencil from a cheap spacemaker instead, resorting to doodling and writing nonsense on his paper opposed to doing work. He's accepted at this point he's getting nothing done today. </p><p> </p><p>Finally the bell rings, and Jackson's the first to stand up and rush out of there, embarrassed at his absent-mindedness during a class he's supposed to be good at. Thank god it's the last class of the day, he doesn't think he can take any more droning lectures, if he has to hear some eight hundred year old skeleton or zombie or whatever the fuck ramble on about something he has very little knowledge over as a human slash normie slash part time fire elemental, it wouldn't take long for him to tear ass to the shady pawn shop down ten or so blocks and ask about that wild west era derringer they had on display so he can shoot himself in the temple with it.</p><p> </p><p>It probably won't end up coming to that, but Jackson does pause in front of the library's doors, looking at them thoughtfully.</p><p> </p><p>A tiny bit of his own research wouldn't be too hard, would it?</p><hr/><p>Jackson's sitting at a table with his laptop in front of him, resting his cheek on the heel of his hand. What time is it? He feels like he's been here for at least an hour, but the school's open twenty four seven for monsters who are nocturnal, so he's not breaking any rules or worse, trespassing bylaws.</p><p> </p><p>Bizarrely, it's pitch black outside. It's near the end of October, so while yes the sun sets earlier if he's only been here for a little while…</p><p> </p><p>Jackson checks the time, it's quarter to seven. </p><p> </p><p>Had he gotten so caught up in his own head that he hadn't noticed almost four hours passed? He knows the answer to that and buying the old ass gun is growing ever tempting.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson hadn't even gotten anywhere in terms of finding anything new about his condition, not anywhere real, anyway. It's entirely possible there were things he missed since he found himself reading the same line over and over more than once. It's entirely possible there were things he missed since he found himself reading the same line over and over more than once. It's entirely possible there were things he missed since he found himself reading the same line over and over more than once. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson's about to pack it up and call it a day when he sees Deuce across the library stocking shelves, and it doesn't take long for him to notice Jackson and slip away from the book cart.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, what are you doing here so late?" Deuce slips into a chair near Jackson, not bothering to ask if he can, which is fine since he doesn't really need to.</p><p> </p><p>"I could ask you the same question, you're not the type to hang around here often,"</p><p> </p><p>"Touche, and I asked you first,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson shrugs, "I guess you could call it a… personal project?" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce nods, "Enigmatic answer,"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah well, your turn," </p><p> </p><p>"Work experience ran a bit late but I get more credit for extra hours," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson raises an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you be doing that?" </p><p> </p><p>"I guess I needed a bit of a break from being yelled at over the Dewey Decimal System," As exhausted as he's feeling, Jackson can't help but laugh a bit at that.</p><p> </p><p>"Anyways, about this personal project,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson feels himself go stiff, how exactly does one bring something like trying to figure out a cure for a generational curse? "It's not a big deal,"</p><p> </p><p>"Nah Jackie, you don't get to lead me on like that, cough it up,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson swallows, embarrassed at his internal reaction to the nickname. "Don't call me that, and it's not even that interesting, I'm just trying to figure out how I can make my dual natured life a bit more livable," </p><p> </p><p>"Ohh, okay, sick sick sick," Deuce pauses, "anything I can kinda help with?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's about to tell him not to worry, but this isn't a huge favor, is it?</p><p> </p><p>"Do you think you could read this article? Like just, out loud I mean, I haven't been able to focus at all today and I think it would help if I could, like, hear it and then write it down," </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, yeah for sure dude," Deuce turns the laptop toward him, turning up the brightness to make the words more visible behind his shades.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry about your speed, I can write fast, just read the words clearly enough if possible, I have a couple more bookmarked, just click on the links that are unopened once you finish one,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce nods silently and starts on the article, Jackson listening attentively. Whenever he reads out a piece of information Jackson may have missed, he writes it out in bullet point form, summarizing in as little words as possible. If there's a word Deuce doesn't recognize or can't pronounce, Jackson suggests a word he knows that sounds similar and more often than not, it ends up being the correct word.</p><p> </p><p>The two work in a bizarre sort of harmony for another hour and a half, ending the impromptu study session with Deuce lowering the laptop screen to see Jackson staring unsatisfied at his own notebook.</p><p> </p><p>"Did I fuck up?" </p><p> </p><p>"No! No no, it's not you," Jackson reassures with nervous laughter, "I just… like okay, this is information I didn't know, right? So like, it's helpful, but it's not what I need," Jackson's movements are far more sporadic and expressive than usual and Deuce tilts his head but says nothing, unsure of if he should point it out or not.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you looking for?"</p><p> </p><p>"Henry Jekyll-- my grandfather-- his notes, I'm looking for his notes,"</p><p> </p><p>"Didn't it say there aren't a lot of copies of them that can be found?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, it did, I know mom has a copy somewhere, but she'd sooner die than tell me where," Jackson mutters bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, if anywhere has them, there's the archives in the catacombs, but I don't think--" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce can't even finish before Jackson's eyes widen and he shoots upright from his desk.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my god-- Deuce you're a genius!" Jackson shoves his belongings into his bag and grabs Deuce by the wrist, bolting straight out of the library.</p><p> </p><p>"Wh-- wait, Jackson is this the best idea?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course it is, it's yours, isn't it?" </p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, this is crazy!" </p><p> </p><p>Jackson chuckles when they slow to a stop in front of the entrance to the catacombs. He turns to face Deuce with a grin on his face.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course it is, what kind of scientist would I be if I wasn't a little mad?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im doing a lot better now lmao. im actually super proud of this mostly bc of the latter half.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>im done w/ chapter summaries lol</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>umm uhh umm do people still use terms like hurt/comfort and angst?? bc if so then uh yeah</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the two make it into the catacombs, Jackson all but charges into Operetta, knocking her over accidentally and earning a yelp from the startled ghoul.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey now, what're you two in such a rush for?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry! That was an accident," Jackson helps Operetta up as she dusts off her jeans. </p><p> </p><p>"It's okay sweet pea, is there anything I can help you boys with?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, would you happen to know where the archives are?" Deuce rubs the back of his neck as Jackson asks, unsure about this whole thing since the archives in the catacombs were strictly forbidden to enter and could possibly end in suspension if caught.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, darlin', what on earth do you need from there?" </p><p> </p><p>"Long story?" </p><p> </p><p>Operetta sighs.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course I know where they are, but if the three of us go in there, Bloodgood'll kick us outta here faster than I can finish off a king cake on mardi gras," </p><p> </p><p>"I… I know, but there's something I need to find, and I'll only be able to find it there,"</p><p> </p><p>She appraises the two boys before sighing and grabbing a torch off of the wall.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, I'll lead you to 'em, but I ain't goin' in there with you," </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She leads them both through a hallway that seems to never end, only lit by the torch she carries. Along the aged stone walls, vines emerge and twist around each worn down brick, degrading the centuries old stone even further. Deep carvings are aged into the stone, thousands of dead languages containing messages and drawing that communicate who knows what. Operetta had been along this hallway thousands of times, but for Jackson and Deuce, this is the first they've seen it, and neither can help but be fascinated.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, I know you wanna find his notes, but there's gotta be a different way to do it,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson just shakes his head. "No, I've come far enough, who the hell would I be to give up now?" </p><p> </p><p><em>Sane?</em> Deuce thinks. Even so, that feels a little unfair. He did suggest this, after all, even if it was kind of by accident. Is it regret he's feeling or nervous anticipation? With Jackson it's hard to tell the difference between the two.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright Darlin's," Both boys are alerted upon hearing Operetta's honey-like drawl call out to the two of them, echoing off the walls. "This here's the archives, if you need me to lead you back, shoot me a text," Jackson can never really tell how she's feeling, she sounds either amused or annoyed, but she could be feeling something completely different and he would be none the wiser.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you," He gives her a side hug and pecks her on the forehead. She grins and chuckles at the casual display of affection before walking off. Jackson looks over at Deuce, silently asking for a hand in pushing open the heavy doors.</p><p> </p><p>Once open, Jackson can't believe what awaited him. A circular room consisting of shelves and shelves of books worn with the ages, each categorized alphabetically as opposed to dewey decimals. Plush armchairs and wooden tables of various sizes and lengths are placed all along the floor, gas lamps placed on the longer tables.</p><p> </p><p>"Holy shit," Jackson breathes, completely taken aback. He doesn't want to seem like a complete dork, but he can't deny the room looks a bit like how he'd imagine heaven, if heaven were to be personally catered to him.</p><p> </p><p>"For a place that's completely abandoned it's holding up pretty alright," Deuce seems far less impressed.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe someone takes care of it?" Jackson pauses, who? "This school has a janitor, right?"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce doesn't answer his question, mostly because he doesn't actually know. "Well, Operetta said she hasn't been here, so whoever it is must spend a lot of time down in this place,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson jogs to a ladder affixed to one of the shelves and gives it a firm shake. It seems sturdy enough to stand on and has wheels attached to the bottom for easier movement. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey Deuce," Jackson calls to his spaced out friend, fascinated by a bizarre Greek statue of a man Jackson doesn't immediately recognize, he's holding a trident and a curly beard blows in mock wind. Deuce glances over to see Jackson tilt his head in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>"Wanna help me out?" </p><p> </p><p>"Whaddya need?" </p><p> </p><p>"Just need you to move the ladder," Jackson climbs the rungs, startled when he feels a wobble and a bit of give, but with a couple of gentle test kicks, it stays in place. Gulping down his nerves paired with fear of heights, he climbs the rest of the way. "Alright, so they're organized by the first initial of last name, I just need you to move me over to J," He calls down. Deuce gives a thumbs up and pushes the ladder gently and slowly. Jackson's still terrified of moving at this height, especially on something so old, but he appreciates the gesture.</p><p> </p><p>"O-Okay, you can stop here now," He clears his throat, now thinking about how his voice only recently stopped cracking and feeling a rush of embarrassment at sounding sixteen once more.</p><p> </p><p>"What's up there, Doctor Jekyll?" Deuce calls from below him. </p><p> </p><p>"Couple of books about the Hyde condition, none that I haven't been able to find copies of online," Jackson adds that last bit on, mildly annoyed at what appears to be another dead end.</p><p> </p><p>"You just plagiarized those books? Uncool man,"</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, I'm related to the person they're about, I've got a bit of a right," Jackson playfully retorts. He's caught somewhat short when he sees something that doesn't look like it belongs, a small cloth notebook, with the name Henry Jekyll written along the spine in pristine cursive.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my god, Deuce, I think I found something,"</p><p> </p><p>"Toss it down,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not gonna toss it! It's like two hundred years old!" Jackson hisses in mock offense, opting to carefully put it in the pocket of his vest instead.</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, did you find the notes?" Deuce asks when Jackson makes it down.</p><p> </p><p>"I think so, grab a table,"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"This… this can't be right," Jackson flips through the notebook, his confused expression turning to worry as he hits the last few pages. He'd indeed found Henry Jekyll's journal. However it seemed to be dedicated to both research and daily life (or, as Jackson liked to put it, "Incoherent word vomit,"). The bits of research that he could find had been scribbled over in what very well could've been a fit of madness. As if to make it worse, the page that held the chemical formula was completely ripped from the book.</p><p> </p><p>"This…" Jackson's at a complete loss for words, this damn book should've had all his answers, but instead all he's been left with are more questions. He sits down silently, breathing a ragged, frustrated breath. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tears sting at his eyes, his head feels hot and he's finding it harder to catch his breath.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, hey,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can't hear anything aside from ringing, everything around him melts into a wobbly blur, clearing up once he blinks the tears off his eyes, only to become blind again. He doesn't know what to do, all he wants to do is hurt something.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Are you fucking kidding me?!"</em> Jackson picks up the notebook and hurls it across the room, sitting down in the chair and roughly wiping his face while he tries so hard to stop sobbing. "Every time! Every time I think I get close to figuring this stupid condition out, I hit some fucking road block! All I wanted was the notes, and now that I found them, I'm back at square-fucking-one!" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce stares, completely oblivious to this side of Jackson until now. The moods Jackson seemed to have were grumpy, tired, and polite. He'd never seen Jackson look so frustrated and upset, he's really not sure what to do.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson lets out some kind of sob mixed with a groan as he tries to calm himself down even a little. All this results in, though, is more tears. "I tried, Deuce, I really fucking tried, but I'm so tired of trying," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson pulls off his glasses, humiliation over his little outburst finally starting to set in as he wiped his tear stained lenses with the hem of his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce says nothing, but moves closer to Jackson, gently plucking his glasses out of his hands and wiping them on his own hoodie.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, I really am, I can't imagine how frustrating this is," </p><p> </p><p>"I don't even know what it is I plan on doing," Jackson kicks himself internally for how wobbly and childish his voice sounds, like he's on the brink of tears once more. "I just wanna know, I hate not knowing," He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, it does nothing to really make him feel better.</p><p> </p><p>As if on a cue, Deuce wipes his tears with his hoodie sleeve before placing his glasses back on his nose. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson knows he blushes incredibly easily, so he's kind of thanking god that his face is crazy blotchy right now. The last thing he wants Deuce to know is how a simple, comforting action makes his brain go haywire on dopamine.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry," Jackson manages to gain quite a bit of his composure back, voice going from broken to only slightly rough, hell he managed to only sniff once.</p><p> </p><p>"You're fine, I get it," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson rests his elbows on the table, doing a couple breathing exercises and trying hard to cool his face down. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm just… I'm tired of feeling--" Jackson can't think of a single word that accurately describes how he feels. "I feel like nobody here takes me seriously, like I'm just the skinny normie kid who's easy to pick on, and no matter what people's opinions on me are, that's the only impression I will ever make," Jackson feels wrong with his emotions and insecurities laid completely bare like this. He hadn't managed to articulate this into proper words to anyone, not even his parents, not even to himself. Once it's out though, he can't seem to stop himself.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't even know the basis of my own problems because my mom still sees me as a twelve year old and thinks I'm too much of a kid to handle anything important," Jackson's voice is closer to a whisper than anything, staring at Deuce's hand and where it is relative to his own. Deuce looks at him with an expression of understanding, urging him to continue.</p><p> </p><p>"I feel like people only really talk to me now…" Jackson feels like he's gulping down a boulder, he can physically <em>feel </em>his adams apple move. "...because I'm Holt,"</p><p> </p><p>"Why's that?"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, nobody gave a shit about me until <em>'Loser Normie is Actually DJ Hyde in Disguise?'</em> was the front page headline on <em>The Ghostly Gossip</em>," Jackson laughs as he mimics Spectra's soft, mezzo-soprano, even though he knows it isn't funny. </p><p> </p><p>"I did," Deuce answers back. "I didn't know you and Holt were the same person until you told me," Jackson looks up doubtfully at Deuce. "I know I'm not the only one, I just think you and Holt attract different types of people,</p><p>"And hey, if people are only around you for Holt, fuck them. They aren't the kind of friends you want anyway," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson stares at the floor and shuffles the flat cobblestone with the shell toes of his sneakers, unsure of what to say.</p><p> </p><p>"Jack, look, you're my friend, and you deserve to be treated better. People are assholes and it's not on you if they can't see how much of a fucking genius you are," Jackson looks back up at Deuce, who has gently squeezed his hand. "Seriously, the amount of dedication and drive you have toward finding something so obscure is something so many monster can only wish for," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson all but chokes.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, I needed to hear that," He sighs. "I'm really tired," </p><p> </p><p>"Well, this isn't a bad place to nap," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson looks around, "You're right," He stretches his arms upward and pulls off his sweater vest, folding it into a makeshift pillow and loosening his tie.</p><p> </p><p>"Wake me up in twenty?" Jackson asks, muffled by his own crossed arms as he looks up drowsily at Deuce, who smiles, endeared by Jackson's ability to fall asleep virtually anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>"Sure thing,"</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im sorry this took so long</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>here's ur food eat up jeuce fans, cuz it's all ur getting for a while</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im not saying this is nsfw, but it's suggestive</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A computerized and remixed version of the 1994 Nokia ringtone blares from the speakers of Jackson's iCoffin, yanking him from a dream he hardly remembers, flashes of green scales and the feel of a certain gorgon's lips are the only things that seem to come to mind. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jesus Christ, I need to get over this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson pulls off his glasses and dumps the last of the water he'd been drinking before he unceremoniously fell asleep on his head. It isn't cold enough to get the job done on changing the state of his lower half, but he's sure that will go away with shame.</p><p> </p><p>His focus is shifted to the thing that woke him up in the first place, his phone is ringing, it's Twyla.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Twy, sorry I was asleep, what's up," </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, I was kinda wondering if you wanna go to the Halloween party Clawdeen is hosting? Howleen kinda asked me to ask you,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson lifts an eyebrow, surprised at the turn this has taken right off the bat. "Why does Howleen want me?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because she knows you and I are friends and she thinks Holt is obnoxious," Jackson snickers at Twyla's blunt honesty.</p><p> </p><p>"I dunno, when is it?" Jackson already knows he's going, he just wants to mess with Twyla a bit. </p><p> </p><p>"Did… did she not--" Twyla whispers to herself before she groans. "the party's tonight, at eight," </p><p> </p><p>"Wait, what? That's crazy last minute," </p><p> </p><p>"I was under the impression Howleen told you already," Twyla apologizes. "Please Jackson? I don't know if anyone else I know is gonna be there and while I adore my ghoulfriend's family, they are crazy competitive, <em>especially if they're not sober," </em></p><p> </p><p>Jackson shrugs and looks at a planner flipped open to today. It's not like he <em>really</em> has anything planned.</p><p> </p><p>"What the hell, sure," </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, I owe you one," She sighs in relief before hanging up. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson strolls around his room, heading over to his closet since he doesn't think the usual order of<em> I make Yale professors look humble and unpretentious</em> really screams Halloween party. He's debating a costume, but would it be better to show up casually? </p><p> </p><p>A senior in high school and seriously at war with himself over an outfit to a party? If anything were to sum up his social life, it would be that. He laughs.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could whip up something last minute, he's creative enough, isn't he? </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Jackson!" Clawd steps over to Jackson, loudness of his voice startling him slightly. "Glad you came!" </p><p> </p><p>"Glad you invited me-- I guess Howleen did?" Jackson isn't certain who planned the party list, but out of the three Wolf siblings, Howleen or Clawd are the most likely to invite him. Clawdeen definitely doesn't hate him, but she's never quite looked at him the same since she found out about when he asked Draculaura to bite him.</p><p> </p><p>He shudders at how awkward he used to be and forces the memories back down.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson!" Deuce calls from the living room, walking over to him with a grin. "Holy shit, I didn't think you'd come! You even wore a costume," </p><p> </p><p>"Wait, he did? I can't even tell," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson looks up at Clawd with mock offense. "Isn't it obvious, <em>Clawdward</em>? I'm Bill Nye,"</p><p> </p><p>"You just dress like that though,"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah exactly which makes the costume all the better," </p><p> </p><p>The three snicker. Deuce and Clawd are very obviously already tipsy and Jackson is getting there and overall he's having a far better time than he thought he would. He pulls a piece of pizza from the box and stuffs it into his mouth, warm cheese melting in his mouth, immediately ridding his memory of the disgusting taste of beer.</p><p> </p><p>This. He needed this so badly.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson follows Deuce and Clawd to the living room, scarfing down the piece of pizza rather quickly.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, hey!" Frankie chirps, waving her arm wildly. "Come join us, we're playing spin the bottle," she gestures to an empty, labeless bottle in the center of where her, Lagoona, and Venus are sitting.</p><p> </p><p>"We need more people to make it interesting, c'mon you three," Venus beckons them with a single finger, and maybe it's because he's seventeen and drunk, but something about her expression screams temptation to Jackson. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure, what the hell," Clawd goes and sits in the circle, shortly proceeding with Jackson and Deuce, who end up across from one another. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay okay, who wants to go?" A much more giggly and obviously slightly drunk Lagoona asks, to which Frankie places her hand on the bottle first. A series of whoops and cheers from all the other players gives her the courage to give the bottle a quick spin. The nozzle points bullseye at Lagoona.</p><p> </p><p>"Get over here, love," Lagoona teases, pulling Frankie by the chin with a single finger. Frankie's crimson lips grin into the short-lived kiss, yet still the dark red of her lipstick is visible on Lagoona's light blue pout.</p><p> </p><p>"Dear lord, how drunk are you two?" Jackson's losing it, completely taken aback by the boldness of the two girls. He's not really one to talk when it comes to being drunk though, he has a can of cider in his hand that he doesn't remember grabbing.</p><p> </p><p>"Your turn Lagoona," Clawd nudges her playfully, she rolls her apple green eyes and spins the glass bottle when…</p><p> </p><p>"Oh shit, you got Bill Nye!" Deuce jokes, making the six teenagers dissolve into a fit of laughter. </p><p> </p><p>Lagoona shifts and kneels toward Jackson, in which he pulls her gently by the back of the neck and kisses her hard and deep, nipping her bottom lip gently while they both smile playfully.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce can't seem to tear his eyes away, Jackson has so much… skill? It could be the alcohol puppeting him, but the amount of inhibition he shows is slightly terrifying, especially given the infamy surrounding Jackson's supposed lack of social skills.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Where the fuck did he learn to kiss like that?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce gulps.</p><p> </p><p><em>Why do I care?!</em> </p><p> </p><p>"Oki doki Jekie, your turn," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson gives the bottle a quick spin. Really, given his luck, who the fuck else did he expect it to land on other than…</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce! You're up, c'mon!" </p><p> </p><p>He looks over at the werewolf, quizzically. "Why are you more excited to see Jackson and I kiss than you were anyone else?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do it you cowards!"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson scoffs as he leans in forward, right across from Deuce. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you ready for this?" He whispers, only loud enough for him and Deuce to hear, quietly asking him if he is truly okay with kissing the same sex, a sex he isn't attracted to. Deuce nods, anxious yet damned wondering what this is gonna be like.</p><p> </p><p>That's all Jackson needs before he goes in for a quick but impactful kiss. It's hard and deep, Deuce's bottom lip connects with Jackson's top, feeling a tiny scrape of teeth from what is definitely an intentional bite, he even manages to hear a small laugh when he feels Jackson's lips grin against his. As quickly as it started, it ends, with Deuce sitting there feeling like his head is on fire and his brain is full of the resulting smoke, he could pass out.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, I gotta piss, you guys do the next few rounds without me," Deuce tries to remain casual, but his face is burning and he can't seem to catch his breath. He stands up, teetering slightly, and then tries not to sprint to the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm drunk.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce closes the door behind him and immediately slides to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his fingers to his temples, staring at his shoes hoping that they're interesting enough to drown out what he knows is happening.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm drunk. I'm just drunk. It's the alcohol, I'm not crushing on Jackson.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce repeats the same few phrases in his head, yet still the more he says them, the more they feel like lies.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson's my friend. That's all. Him and I are just friends.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce buries his face in his knees, letting out a muffled groan. As if it can't get any worse, something occurs to Deuce that he feels stupid for being so shocked by.</p><p> </p><p>"Am I gay?" He asks himself quietly. It wasn't really something he meant to say out loud, but he's too floored by this new revelation to even care.</p><p> </p><p>Oddly enough, his second thought terrifies him even more.</p><p> </p><p>"Is Jackson <em>straight</em>?" Deuce mutters to himself once more, tone gravely serious. He doesn't even have time to answer before a series of knocks has his thoughts yanked elsewhere.</p><p> </p><p><em>"Peeing!"</em> Deuce screams hoping whoever'd knocked heard him.</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce? It's me," Clawd's voice drifts from the other side of the bathroom door, soothing Deuce's shot nerves at least somewhat slightly.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh shit, okay come in then," </p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you peeing?"</p><p> </p><p>"No I'm not fucking peeing, just get in here!"</p><p> </p><p>Clawd can barely ask why Deuce is sitting on the floor of his bathroom before he's swiftly tugged by the arm, Deuce shutting the door behind them with his foot.</p><p> </p><p>"Jesus, what is with you?" Clawd hisses, more startled than anything. Deuce can't answer so he just splutters panicked syllables that sound like they could be the start of sentences. </p><p> </p><p>Clawd hasn't seen Deuce like this ever. It isn't in him to really be panicking about anything, but it doesn't take long for him to figure it out when he sees Deuce's cheeks stained a deep shade of red. </p><p> </p><p>"Is it Jackson?" Clawd sits beside him, Deuce looks at him with complete bewilderment.</p><p> </p><p>"How the <em>fuck</em> did you know?" </p><p> </p><p>"I mean, <em>I</em> don't swing that way but I can't deny he's a good looking dude," Clawd shrugs, as if this conversation is completely normal, "plus I mean c'mon, if someone kissed me like that I'd be pretty turned on too," </p><p> </p><p>"Can you please fucking shut up,"</p><p> </p><p>"Okay no but seriously Deuce, are you into him?" </p><p> </p><p>"No, I mean, I don't think so? I'm not really…" Deuce trails off, is he into guys? He never really took the time to think about things like that, he just accepted from a young age that he's supposed to be into girls and being anything else made you some kind of other. </p><p> </p><p>But the more he thinks about it, he remembers a time in the locker room where he'd stared at another student's physique for a little longer than he'd intended to. He wasn't sure of his name then, all he knew was that he was a mermaid, but when he scrapes his brain, the name Finnigan rings a bell.</p><p> </p><p>He thought that it was envy and dismissed it as such, not even bothering to give it a second thought, but now that he's really thinking about it, maybe the true reason for eyeing up a classmate whose name he didn't even know lies a little deeper than casual jealousy.</p><p> </p><p>"I dunno," Deuce feels like his world is crumbling down on him with all the things he hadn't realized were probably attraction, even Clawd, who's <em>currently sitting next to him.</em> Deuce remembers the occasions he'd thought about petting behind those ears of his during dry spells in his lessons. </p><p> </p><p>How fucking closeted does he have to be to not even be aware of it himself?</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I am gay," Deuce mumbles quietly. Is it shame he's feeling? He can't tell. </p><p> </p><p>"And if you are, that's fine," </p><p> </p><p>"Clawd I have a girlfriend," </p><p> </p><p>"True enough," Clawd tilts his head in Deuce's direction, "you're going to have to tell her," </p><p> </p><p>"I know,"</p><p> </p><p>The two stay silent for a little bit, distant music from the party currently taking place outside is the only thing that can be heard. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you like Jackson or is he more of a sexual awakening sort of thing?" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce can't answer that clearly.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know, I don't even know if I am gay honestly, maybe it's the alcohol," it's a shitty lie and they both know it, but they indulge in it anyways.</p><p> </p><p>"Whatever you turn out to be, I'm still your bloodie," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce smiles to himself.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you," </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>was it worth it probably not lol hope u like it anyways</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy valentine's day im sorry this is kinda sad lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Chad, I seriously don't know about this," </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"What's the issue?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson fidgets, messing with the hem on his vest. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I'm just-- you know, not into--"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Chad places a hand on his shoulder, his lips turning up in a smile.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"If you're not comfortable, we don't have to do anything, but I don't mind… experimenting if it's for the sake of a dumb party game," Jackson looks up at his friend, feeling his throat close at the sudden realization that Chad is a lot taller than he is. "and if it makes you feel any better, the idea of doing… you know, god knows what with another guy doesn't freak me out that much, especially considering it's you,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jackson can't help but squeak. Chad pauses, "Like I said though, if you don't want to, I'll back off,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He silently agrees, too nervous to say anything, and becomes putty under Chad's touch for the next six minutes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He's far too anxious to do anything himself, so he lets Chad take the lead, completely lost in the sensation of his lips on his. His breath, as well as all rational thought he may have possessed, are both completely gone, pulled away from him by Chad's hands on his waist and his lips now on his neck, all anxieties he may have had unwound from his head like yarn.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>By the time Clair tells them their time is up, Jackson's mind is absolutely melted.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is he still straight? Was he ever? He knows the answer to both of those questions.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Jackson's Uber takes him home, he delivers a quiet thanks to the driver (trying his hardest to shut his fight or flight responses up because he happens to be a gargoyle), and paces up his driveway, making a judgement call to enter through the back door instead of the front. Technically his parents knew he was going to a party, but it's also past one and given the last time he came home this late ended the way it did, he doesn't think they'd be particularly thrilled.</p><p> </p><p>Thank god his parents are sound asleep and he seems to be in the clear.</p><p> </p><p>He kicks off his sneakers and heads up to his room, peeling off his jacket and changing into a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that really need to be washed. </p><p> </p><p>What happened at the party could've been a result of dumb luck or fate playing cruel games with him, but considering he's a Jekyll, he's going to overthink the fuck out of it.</p><p> </p><p>Normally he'd just shrug, say <em>hey I got to briefly make out with my crush, neat,</em> and add it to his list of things to think about during his private moments, but something about Deuce's reaction really rubs Jackson the wrong way.</p><p> </p><p>Again, his family is quite literally famous for over analyzing everything, but he could swear that Deuce's cheeks were pink after he pulled away. He left immediately after too, does that mean something? Jackson shifts in bed as he pulls his glasses off, staring at a poster clumsily affixed to his wall with tack as his eyes drift closed.</p><p> </p><p>Probably not.</p><p> </p><p>Probably.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Deuce chews on his lip, finding any excuse to avoid talking to Cleo. He'd cleaned and rearranged his room, done enough homework to make up for a week, tightened the wheels on his skateboard, and cleaned off all of his shades. Needless to say, he's beginning to run out of ways to stall.</p><p> </p><p>It's been a few days since the halloween party, but he still can't seem to forget about it, which kinda tells him he wasn't drunk enough for him to be able to blame it on that.</p><p> </p><p>Best case scenario, he's bisexual, worst case, he's been living a lie this whole time and he was never into girls.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What would mom think?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Not only is he failing Mad Science, but now a queer, normie loving mistake? It's a morbid situation and it's really upsettingly hilarious, a level of tragic comedy William Shakespeare could've only hoped to achieve. </p><p> </p><p>Startling him from his blue funk is his phone vibrating against the wood of his desk.</p><p> </p><p>He turns it over, and of course who else would it be other than the very person he's been dreading speaking to? </p><p> </p><p>"Hey Cleo, 'sup?" Deuce is having the hardest time keeping his voice steady, but he manages somehow. All he can hope is that he sounds convincing.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Deuce-y," Her tone doesn't have the same elegant bravado it normally does, she sounds lethargic. Deuce says nothing about it though. "This… damn it, okay, this isn't going to be easy,"</p><p> </p><p>"Everything okay babe?" He can hear a sigh from the other end of the phone.</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce, look, you know I adore you, I just don't think it's in the same way I used to," Deuce pauses, eyes wide beneath his shades.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you… breaking up with me?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, I just think this is what's best for us,"</p><p> </p><p>"I get it,"</p><p> </p><p>"Please don't be mad at me,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not, shit happens, I'm just kinda surprised, I guess," Deuce rests his elbow on his desk, sighing himself. "I promise I'm not mad Cleo,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'll um…" She trails off, leaving a deafening momentary silence. "I'll see you at school?"</p><p> </p><p>"See you at school,"</p><p> </p><p>The phone clicks and the line goes dead.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ngl i love cleo and deuce so writing this physically hurt me 😔 gotta trek on tho</p><p>uhh smth to lighten the mood ig; i was gonna write "Boo-ber" instead of Uber and i kinda wish i did because jesus fuck this chapter is sad</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>alright alright, its valentine's day so i GUESS i can spoil y'all a LITTLE bit</p><p>(again, this chapeter isn't inherently nsfw, but it does get suggestive, especially toward the end)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Deuce stares as Cleo's contact picture fades as his iCoffin slowly turns off. The breakup had been a long time coming, even before his impromptu sexual awakening at the hands of cheap beer, and truth be told, it definitely could've been a lot worse than it was, but nobody feels good after a breakup, and Deuce doesn't feel like being an adult about it, so he's gonna sit and pout.</p><p> </p><p>He removes his shades, not even caring if he catches himself in a reflective surface since that's the least of his problems right now. </p><p> </p><p>Besides, being a paperweight seems like a lot less work to him. </p><p> </p><p>He wants to talk to someone, but he doesn't know who. Clawd is good with feelings, but if the conversation in the bathroom a few days before is any indication, Deuce himself isn't. Heath is awkward when it comes to anything serious. Frankie, shockingly, is pretty emotionally intelligent, yet she has a surprising amount of notoriety surrounding her foot-in-mouth moments, which usually end up adding a lot more unnecessary awkwardness.</p><p> </p><p>Truth be told, though, Deuce doesn't want to really talk at all, he just wants someone to talk to about anything, or not talk, he just doesn't want to be alone. He does know someone who would be hopefully willing to help him, but despite it being six p.m, Jackson's sleep schedule is erratic at best, so it's impossible to tell if he's awake right now or not.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce's verdict ultimately ends up as fuck it and he calls Jackson, the dial tone stopping at two rings.</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce? What's up?" He sounds awake, there's also something playing in the background, so at least he hasn't woken him up from a nap, good start.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, uh, are you busy?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not really, I've been playing and losing at <em>Castlevania</em> for the past… eh, couple hours, what about you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, no me neither, I just um… wanted to talk to you, I guess,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson is quick to pick up on the tone of Deuce's voice, he always is somehow.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you doing okay?" His tone has softened and it makes Deuce's breath catch in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>"Not really," Deuce punctuates with as bitter of a laugh as he can muster, "Cleo kinda broke up with me,"</p><p> </p><p>"Shit, I'm sorry," Jackson sounds sympathetic, adding more dramatization than necessary.</p><p> </p><p>"It's not the biggest deal, at this point it was kinda inevitable, and it was pretty mutual, it's just…"</p><p> </p><p>"I get it, nobody likes breakups," Silence falls between the two of them for a brief moment, but before Deuce can ask Jackson if he's still there, he pipes up from the other end, "Do you wanna stay over at my place?"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure? It's a… weird hour," </p><p> </p><p>"Not really, if I shoot my mom a text before she gets home telling her you'll be here, she won't really care much,"</p><p> </p><p>"It's six," </p><p> </p><p>"Who cares, she thinks you're like, Mother Teresa or some shit because you saved me from being beat to death by homophobic rocks,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce can't help it, he laughs, especially considering he really didn't.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, I'll be there in a bit," </p><p> </p><p>"Cool, see you then man," </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Deuce stands at Jackson's door, taking note of the shade of yellow it's painted. It's Jackson's favorite color, or at least he thinks so, it's the color of his favorite shirt at least. A light, sunny yellow. None of the other doors on the block were painted anything other than a dull eggshell, so finding Jackson's house in a neighborhood where virtually every house looks exactly the same is a bit of a breeze. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce used to find it odd that neighborhoods in the normie area of New Salem are so cookie-cutter in comparison to mostly monster populated areas where the architecture is older than the creatures living in it, but now he finds it oddly charming. The houses are rather new, most of which likely being built in the last ten or so years, usually white or red bricks decorated the siding. It's simple, really, nothing about it should stand out, yet when it comes to Jackson and his personality that sort of thing makes sense.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce knocks on the door a couple of times, waiting a few moments for a response. </p><p> </p><p>After next to no time at all, the door swings open to reveal Jackson looking far more casual than Deuce has ever seen him, in a hoodie for a band Deuce isn't familiar with and a pair of jeans. It's weird, not seeing the usual bow-tie and sweater vest combo, but Deuce can't complain, it kinda suits him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, you're just in time, my mom just said yes," Jackson leans against the doorframe while raising his pierced eyebrow. Deuce finds it difficult to speak, but why? It's not nerve, definitely not. </p><p> </p><p>"Why'd you invite me over before your mom said yes?" Deuce kicks off his shoes when he steps inside, lowering his hood and freeing his snakes.</p><p> </p><p>"I figured she'd say yeah, so I got kinda cocky, sorry," Jackson snickers with a grin. "I'll grab us something quick to eat, how hungry are you?"</p><p> </p><p>"How'd you know I was hungry?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson catches himself, how <em>did</em> he know? "I didn't really, I just figured that something to eat might help you feel better since it usually tends to," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce is wide eyed once more, thank god right now for his shades. It's always been kinda scary how well Jackson picked up on things like that, yet it's not completely out of character.</p><p> </p><p>When you've been a bystander pretty much all your life, you get good at observing and picking up on people's mannerisms. Closeness with Deuce, especially after something somewhat life changing, only made that easier. </p><p> </p><p>Still, Jackson's ability to pull the knotted emotions out of Deuce like they're detangled threads is both terrifying yet amazing.</p><p> </p><p>"I guess I could eat, what do you have?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've got a box of bagel bites," </p><p> </p><p>"Sure," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson roots in his freezer and pulls out a box, putting each tiny pizza on a baking sheet before he stuffs them into the oven. Deuce is only half paying attention, that is until he sees Jackson stretch his arms upward absentmindedly, exposing his stomach ever so slightly. From the small strip of skin Deuce can see, Jackson is surprisingly toned. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce forces his gaze away, what the fuck is wrong with him? Jackson, however, either doesn't notice or doesn't say anything, Deuce prays it's the former. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh yeah, uh, okay so we don't exactly have a guest room, and I don't imagine you wanna sleep on an air mattress again, so you can have my room,"</p><p> </p><p>"Where are you gonna sleep?"</p><p> </p><p>"The couch probably,"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't mind the couch,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson waves a hand dismissively, "Nah, my bed is comfier, plus you're our guest,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce doesn't know what to make of this. Jackson invited him to his house, made him food, and gave him his room to sleep in for absolutely nothing in return. Is it because he's knowingly trying to make him feel better or is this simple etiquette to him? His dismissive mannerisms tell Deuce it's the latter.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce clenches his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, you don't have to do that," </p><p> </p><p>"It's not a problem," </p><p> </p><p>The oven beeps, Jackson grabs a rag and pulls out the pizzas and sets them on top of the stove.</p><p> </p><p>"Let's give those a while," Jackson sits down at the table beside Deuce, giving him a look Deuce can't read.</p><p> </p><p>"So do you wanna talk about it?" Jackson asks timidly, "you don't have to, but if you want to you can,"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't really know what it is I want honestly," Deuce laughs drily, there's no sincerity behind it, and Jackson can tell.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, there's no shame in ignoring it for a bit, what's done is done, right?" </p><p> </p><p>"Never thought I'd hear Jackson Jekyll tell me to ignore my problems," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson lets out a scoff as he leans back with a grin, stretching his arms and yawning, exposing more of his pale white stomach.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This fucking guy is gonna be the death of me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I guess that makes me the biggest hypocrite alive, doesn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>They say nothing more, but it's a comfortable silence. There's no pressure to speak, and it's a rather nice change of pace. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'll grab our food, give me a sec," Jackson stands up to grab the bagel bites, and Deuce would sooner stick knives into his eyes than admit he kinda misses the company. "I don't have any alcohol, but there's cans of various sodas in the fridge, so help yourself to whatever," the bagel bites have been transferred to a plate and Jackson holds it in his right hand, fiddling with his phone in his left. "wanna help me beat this last level? Can't get past it,"</p><p> </p><p>There's nothing Deuce would rather do more.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Around eight p.m, Henrietta comes home, greeting Deuce as though he's someone she'd known for years, despite her last real interaction with him being under extremely shitty circumstances. She flits to the kitchen, telling Jackson to help set the table, in which he pauses the level they're playing on and unenthusiastically follows his mother's ministrations. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce feels rather out of place sitting in the living room doing nothing, so he follows Jackson to the kitchen, who in turn gives him a bit of an odd look, but says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>"Is there anything I can help with?" Deuce asks Henrietta, to which she responds with a warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Help is always welcome,"</p><p> </p><p>"What are you making? I can probably help a bit with cooking," </p><p> </p><p>"Macaroni casserole, do you think you could help with the rue?" </p><p> </p><p>"Sure can," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson watches as the two talk over the stove, passing ingredients and discussing the recipe in an effortless harmony. He can willingly admit he can't cook to save his life and fully intends on dying early eating processed food when he moves out, so seeing his best friend and mother chat over food is something he didn't know would be so endearing. </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Deuce in an element he's familiar with and confident in makes Jackson's chest feel tight, he bites back a wistful sigh.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm in far too deep, aren't I?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dinner gets done twice as fast which is unprecedented but also unsurprising and the three of them eat, Jackson mildly disappointed that his father wouldn't be able to make it due to a late running shift, but nonetheless Jackson takes a bite and <em>holy shit--</em></p><p> </p><p>"Deuce, you never told me you were this good," Jackson mutters after swallowing a mouthful of macaroni.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I cook for myself a lot, so I've gotten pretty good at it,"</p><p> </p><p>"Shit, you should teach me,"</p><p> </p><p>"Jackie," his mother warns from across the table, "language," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson huffs playfully, looking over at Deuce while shrugging. He knows his mom means well, so he rolls his eyes and grins while taking another bite.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce continues eating while making idle conversation with his other two table mates, but he's only half paying attention, he can't seem to get his mind off of Jackson's contented smiling expression for some reason that he can't name, rather that he doesn't want to.</p><p> </p><p>That stupid fucking party and the stupid stupid game of spin the bottle, sparking a heat rush to his face every time he thinks of Jackson's lips on his. It makes it impossible to breathe or keep up with anything that's being said.</p><p> </p><p>It's just infatuation, but he wishes it would go the fuck away sooner so he can live his life normally again.</p><p> </p><p>He catches something about Jackson's mom needing to go to bed early for work tomorrow, something along those lines, either way the two need to keep it down for however much longer they're gonna be awake. They both agree and head to the living room, Jackson booting up the gaming console.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Fuck sakes! That game was rigged!" Jackson hisses at the screen, narrowing his eyes at the game over. The two had been playing a one-on-one fighting game for the past however many hours and Jackson was losing. Miserably.</p><p> </p><p>"Damn, you kinda suck at this," Deuce laughs, deliberately poking the bear since Jackson getting animated as this is a once in a lifetime occurrence. Hey, he may as well enjoy the show.</p><p> </p><p>"Watch it," Jackson hisses through his teeth once more before the two both break character and start laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson leans against the couch and checks the time on his phone. "Ah shit," he mutters to himself, squinting at the bright LED.</p><p> </p><p>"What's eating you?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's like, three a.m,"</p><p> </p><p>"Damn," Deuce laughs, admittedly though, he is pretty tired, the fatigue settling in his bones makes that clear enough.</p><p> </p><p>"Break or bed?" Jackson looks over at Deuce, who looks more relaxed than he's ever seen him.</p><p> </p><p>"Short break I guess," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson is kinda grateful. Even though he wasn't really angry at Deuce, he was getting more frustrated over losing ten times in a row than he'd like to admit. </p><p> </p><p>"So um, I guess now would be a good time to talk if you want to," Jackson's voice is quiet, low and raspy yet there's something there Deuce doesn't really hear often, at least he hasn't in years. Kindness? Genuine sentiment? Probably, yeah.</p><p> </p><p>"What's there to talk about?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I mean, I'm not dumb, I can tell it wasn't just Cleo that was bothering you,"</p><p> </p><p>This guy can read Deuce like a fucking book.</p><p> </p><p>"Just been kinda stressed is all, about my mom and stuff,"</p><p> </p><p>"Has she been on your case about Mad Science?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I mean one failed test to her is like… I dunno, she freaks out every fucking time, acts like I'm a delinquent or something," Deuce closes his eyes, feeling the heaviest of weights lift off of his shoulders as he exhales a ragged breath he hadn't known he was holding. "She's never even proud of me for the things I do achieve outside of science, she just brushes it off,"</p><p> </p><p>"I can understand how that would be frustrating," Jackson mumbles, moving slightly closer to Deuce. "I'm sorry, I wish I could help you more," </p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to fix my problems for me,"</p><p> </p><p>"No," Jackson admits with a tiny smile, "but I'm your friend and I want to help you,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson continues when Deuce stays silent. "Science isn't easy, I enjoy the hell out of it but I can't deny it's frustrating, hell, you saw what happened in the archives the other day, so you can definitely attest, and I promise you whatever your mom has said isn't true, you're not a delinquent, Deuce, and you're sure as hell not an idiot," Jackson's expression is somber as he stares into space, "We owe nothing to people who hurt us, they're just good at making us think we do,"</p><p> </p><p>It's not the first time Deuce feels guilty that despite being friends with him for over a year now, he doesn't know a ton about Jackson. He's sheltered himself off to nearly everyone else, willingly an enigma. Whether it's because he doesn't want people to hurt him or simply because he's a private person, Deuce has never been sure, but one thing is clear, and that's he wants to be closer to Jackson, however that may be.</p><p> </p><p>Being close to someone is such a weird and arbitrary concept, what does it even mean? People are so willing to put verbal labels on their relationships with others when you can know nothing about a person beyond superficialities and be completely clueless to this. Is this what Jackson has been going for this entire time? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That must be so lonely.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Are you okay?" </p><p> </p><p>It's then that he realizes he's gotten far closer to Jackson than he'd first anticipated, they're face to face and Jackson's back is against the arm of the couch.</p><p> </p><p>"You're breathing really heavy," Jackson looks puzzled, but all Deuce can focus on is his mouth. The shades really are a blessing in disguise sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson," Deuce gets closer to Jackson's lips, and judging by the atmosphere and Deuce's behavior, it definitely doesn't take very long for him to catch on. All he can do right now is ask why? Why him?</p><p> </p><p>"Is it okay for me to do this?" Jackson has never heard his tone sound so low and so gravely serious. A weird mix of terror and anticipation sets itself in his gut.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson nods. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce wastes no time in pushing his lips against Jackson's, satisfied with the small sigh that escapes his mouth. His heart is in his throat once more, but it's a different kind of dizzy, his normally sharp mind is completely useless right now in terms of putting any real thoughts together beyond <em>holy shit is this actually fucking happening</em>, and it's nothing short of intoxicating.</p><p> </p><p>Well, there goes Deuce's last shreds of hope for his own heterosexuality.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's breathing is sped up and shaky, he can't seem to keep his hands in one place for too long, going from Deuce's shoulders to rubbing against the smooth scales on his head with his fingernails, making the recipient shiver.</p><p> </p><p>Just as quickly as they started, Jackson pushes Deuce away, almost like he has to force himself to stop, lest they end up going farther. He can't even imagine the kind of disaster that would spell for both of them.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm so sorry--"</p><p> </p><p>"My, uh, room is down the hall and up the stairs, if you wanna hole up there," Jackson's voice is a shaky laugh, thinly veiling the panic he was feeling, "I'm crazy tired so I'm gonna go to sleep," </p><p> </p><p>"O-Oh, okay, um, goodnight Jackson," Deuce mumbles, standing up, shame washing over his body.</p><p> </p><p>"G'night!" Jackson is trying so damn hard to sound cheerful, but even he can tell it's a slipping facade at best.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Once Deuce heads to Jackson's bedroom and shuts the door, he all but hyperventilates. </p><p> </p><p>What the fuck is wrong with him? He just got broken up with and his friend was trying to help him deal with his feelings, in no way was that an invitation to make out on his couch. Besides, Jackson doesn't deserve to be a rebound. He's a wonderful friend and Deuce would be scum to lead him on like that.</p><p> </p><p>But there's that part of Deuce that can't stop thinking about Jackson's hands wandering, along with the small breaths of want that he made. Deuce has no idea Jackson's romantic or sexual history beyond what he's been told in passing remarks, he's not sure if the latter really even exists, but one thing is for damn sure and it's that even if he was timid, somehow Jackson seemed to know exactly what it was Deuce wanted. He's weak just thinking about it.</p><p> </p><p>He's tired. He's just tired and overthinking. That's all. </p><p> </p><p>Deuce looks around Jackson's room, taking in everything he saw. Staying in other people's bedrooms is always a weird experience for Deuce, physical manifestations of a person's life and past, every single object, even things that seemingly make no sense, have a memory attached to them. Photographs have stories behind every single detail, outfit, and person, and everything is somewhere for a reason.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's room is nothing short of fascinating. From the sleeping chameleon to the shelves of books Deuce had never heard of. Even the accumulation of empty coffee cups on the windowsill near a beanbag chair, the kind you find at bizarre tourist attractions and gift shops.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce smiles sadly, knowing that he not only possibly ruined his and Jackson's friendship, but will likely never know the story behind the kitsch. Which is a damn shame, really, because whatever story they hold is probably hilarious.</p><p> </p><p>He lies down on Jackson's bed, taking note of the smell of laundry detergent before trying his hardest to sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jackson has his hands pressed to his face while he stares at nothing, trying his hardest to stay calm as he clenches his teeth to contain a scream.</p><p> </p><p>What the hell just happened? Moreover, why did he let it happen? Deuce was very obviously in an emotionally vulnerable position and it was just a moment of weakness, that's all, but Jackson's kicking himself, almost literally, over his inability to get Deuce out of his fucking head. He wanted things to go further between the two of them, which in itself is unrealistic, but Jackson's mind is cruel and won't let him think of anything else.</p><p> </p><p>His whole body flushes with a warm heat and every single part of him feels like it's on fire, he tries so desperately to avoid thinking about Deuce hovering over him moments before, but it obviously isn't going to be as easy as that.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson covers his mouth with his hands-- well, his left hand, his right one is occupied. </p><p> </p><p>This shouldn't be happening, Deuce just needed a friend to talk to, Jackson is just that, that's all he's supposed to be, but the feeling of his lips is etched into his memory, permanently branded there.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce's hands, Deuce's smell, Deuce's mouth, Jackson screws his eyes shut, now allowing the memories to come back to him if only to indulge in himself and what he so desperately wants but can't have. Heat courses through his veins and he can almost hear his own blood pumping.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce, Deuce, <em>Deuce--</em></p><p> </p><p>A sudden spike of white hot heat forces Jackson to jolt forward, trying to silence any noises he knows he might make by biting into the back of his hand. He's shaking and weak, not to mention panting like a dog, and a pit grows in his stomach. His entire body feels like jelly, and it's impossible to move.</p><p> </p><p>He needs to wash his hands, lest Deuce or someone else come into the living room and find the unholy aftermath of what he'd just done, also the fact that Deuce is definitely smart enough to gather what it was Jackson may have been thinking about. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson stands, forcing himself not to let his knees buckle at his sudden vertigo spike while he rinses his hands in the kitchen sink. He slumps over to the couch and all but throws himself on it, pulling some blankets over his body, now feeling incredibly ill. Jackson wonders what it would be like if he had allowed things to escalate between the two of them and how far they would end up going. He pushes the thought away before it can eat him alive, though, he doesn't need to do that again.</p><p> </p><p>It was a tender moment and Deuce just went about seeking validation the only way he could think of. It wasn't calculated by any means, it was just a result of neglect, hell, a result of <em>both</em> of them being neglected. Deuce is loved by all his peers at school, easily one of the most charismatic and, for lack of a better word, popular students at Monster High with a mom who treats him like an afterthought. Jackson is adored by his family, but ignored by all but a few of his fellow classmates.</p><p> </p><p>Opposite ends of the same unfair spectrum, forever longing for what the other has.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do we understand one another better or worse because of it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He asks himself that question shortly before he heaves a sigh and falls asleep, eyelids growing heavy and falling shut. Has this always been doomed to happen from the start? </p><p> </p><p>Jackson's too tired to bother thinking about anything right now, so he lets everything in his head slow to a stop as he settles into the cushions and pulls the blanket up to his cheek.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>funny thing, ive actually had this chapter prewritten for a while now, im talking since uhh end of december i think? anyway ive basically been editing it for god knows how long so it'd still make sense in the context of the story n stuff</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im sorry if this isn't that good im trying</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em><span class="u"><strong>Mom</strong></span>: be home in 15</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Deuce sighs. It's not like he has anything he has to do, but his mother will probably end up fixing that for him before he even steps in the door. For now, shooting a few hoops at a nearby court doesn't seem like too bad of an idea. It's not like anybody really ever goes there, anyway.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, usually. Today appears to be an exception, as evidenced by the guy shooting hoops on his own, apparently feeling very brave since he has no visible monster features.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Great. Some normie kid.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Deuce's hands slowly trail to his shades, but before he can lift them…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Hey, were you gonna use the court?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Wh-- uh… no um…" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Ah, alright, so you're just taking your ball out for a walk, I get it, I get it," This guy has a smug grin on his face as he drums his fingers on his own ball.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Jackass," Deuce glares beneath his shades, but the other guy just grins wider.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Tell you what, if you can beat me on one and one, you can have the court to yourself, deal?" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Fuck it, you're on,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Deuce immediately tosses his ball behind him since the other one seems to be in much better condition anyway, and the two compete against one another until Deuce gets double crossed, watching the ball shoot seamlessly through the hoop.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He hears a low whistle as the ball is picked up and lightly tossed upward with a single hand, "Child's play," </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"You're a dick. Best of seven." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"For sure,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And so they play far more than seven rounds, Deuce incredibly surprised that he's equally matched with a human. A funny, smug human.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He must've gotten distracted when the ball bounces and hits him right in the face, knocking his shades to the ground and shattering them, rendering them completely useless.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Damn it, this was my favorite pair," Deuce mumbles under his breath.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"You don't have another pair on you?" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"No,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Then, uh, here," Deuce feels something tossed toward him, hitting him lightly on the shoulder, "they're virtually indestructible, so if you wanna keep 'em you can," He looks down at the pair, the single lense is almost completely black with a dark red frame.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Deuce slides them on and stands up.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Thanks man,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"No problem, my name's Jackson by the way, Jackson Jekyll,"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Deuce Gorgon," </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jackson awakes on the couch, staring bitterly at the stagnant morning scene, alit by dim sunlight shining through the blinds. Is he angry? He can't tell anymore. If he is, it's more at himself than anything else. </p><p> </p><p>He rolls onto his back, slowly pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead as he forces back tears. Shame, it's definitely harrowing shame that he's feeling. He inhales shakily, allowing miniscule streams of tears to drip slowly down his cheeks. He's such a fucking idiot, why did he do that?</p><p> </p><p>A voice that belongs to someone he hasn't heard from in ages pipes up quietly.</p><p> </p><p><em>"Do you want me to take over for a while?"</em> </p><p> </p><p>Wordlessly, Jackson nods, and with a flash, he's gone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Deuce paces Jackson's room, trying to figure out how to best approach him since <em>hey, sorry I made out with you on your couch at three am, I was feeling shitty after finding out I'm probably gay and being broken up with, oh did I mention I'm probably gay? And also figured it out because of you? Surprise!!</em> doesn't seem like it would go over that well. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>May as well just rip off the band aid I guess. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce throws open the bedroom door and practically races down the steps, only to see Holt standing at the kitchen island, holding a mug with some kind of creature on it proclaiming they'd rather have tequila, which is oddly kind of fitting for the hole Deuce has dug himself.</p><p> </p><p>Holt gives Deuce a sideways glance beneath his thick rimmed glasses, <em>Jackson's</em> thick rimmed glasses, his expression very clearly reading as annoyed.</p><p> </p><p>"Sleeping beauty's awake," </p><p> </p><p>"Uh, hey, sorry I just wasn't expecting--" Holt holds a hand up, Deuce stops talking. </p><p> </p><p>A thick tension hangs between the two, Deuce trying to think of anything to say that won't piss Holt off.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't know you wear glasses, I've never seen you with them," </p><p> </p><p>"Jackson and I have the same prescription, I just use contacts," Holt mutters before he loudly slurps his coffee, making Deuce wince. While he isn't entirely sure if he has the right, a cup of coffee actually sounds great right about now.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, may I?" He gestures vaguely to the coffeemaker, Holt just shrugs as a response, so Deuce takes this as a go ahead.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls down a mug that looks like it once was sold in a Denver gift shop and goes to grab the coffee pot, hissing in pain when the tips of his fingers brush against the glass.</p><p> </p><p>"Shit, uh, sorry, should've warned you about that," Holt sounds vaguely embarrassed, which while Deuce is surprised he isn't just laughing and saying that's what you get you fucking serpent, Holt doesn't seem like the type of person to wish second degree burns on someone for just being an asshole. "Are you okay?" Now the concern in his voice is what shocks Deuce.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I'll be fine, thanks," Deuce mumbles back, feeling his cheeks grow hot. As much as he likes Holt as a person, he can't deny he misses the quick wit of his normie counterpart. Holt probably has a similar sense of humor toward people who don't randomly make out with his alter ego though, so maybe that's more of a privilege he hasn't earned rather than something Holt himself lacks.</p><p> </p><p>"So, um, listen, can I--"</p><p> </p><p>"I know what you're gonna ask Deuce," Holt's tone is low, vaguely reminiscent of a growl. It sends chills down Deuce's spine.</p><p> </p><p>"Can you at least tell him I'm sorry?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This goddamn idiot.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Holt stares ahead, baffled, as though he'd spoken some kind of foreign language.</p><p> </p><p>"You know it doesn't work like that, right?" </p><p> </p><p>"How does it…?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my god-- Deuce he'll talk to you when he takes form again, I can't pass on messages to him, I'm not a fuckin' postman,"</p><p> </p><p>"Shit well, um,"</p><p> </p><p>"If you want to talk to him about what happened," Holt walks past, brushing against Deuce's shoulder and sending (figurative) sparks through his body. "talk to him yourself," </p><p> </p><p>And so Deuce had planned to do just that! Except Holt has been taking form for the past four days, and also obviously wants very little to do with Deuce, which is really fucking stellar. It could be that he's pissed, it could be that he's busy messing around with various musical equipment belonging to the school, but whatever the reason, it leaves Deuce growing more and more frustrated.</p><p> </p><p>He'd gone down to the catacombs to hopefully recollect his thoughts, which have been all over the place as of late, and sees Holt once more, heading somewhere unknown, so against his better judgement, Deuce silently stalks after him.</p><p> </p><p>Well, again, he'd originally planned to, but meta cliche had to seep into real life and he'd stepped on a particularly crunchy patch of gravel, alerting the guy he'd been following.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Man, things haven't been going my way at all lately.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What is your <em>deal</em>, snakehead?!" Holt snaps, striding over to Deuce looking absolutely infuriated.</p><p> </p><p>"Please, I just want to talk to Jackson!" </p><p> </p><p>"I know, but you're gonna have to wait until he decides to take form again!"</p><p> </p><p>"When the fuck will that be?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Beats me!"</p><p> </p><p>"What are you two doing?!" A ghoul neither of the two had seen before looks concerned, unsure if she should step in or not.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing!" </p><p> </p><p>"--stealing his lunch money--"</p><p> </p><p>"--bugging him--"</p><p> </p><p>"--got in a fight--"</p><p> </p><p>The two deliver more half assed excuses as the ghoul walks off, previous concern now turning to confusion. Once in the clear, Holt sighs.</p><p> </p><p>"Look, I don't care what you and Jackson do together, it's under his jurisdiction, not mine, and he doesn't want to be pitied or protected by some invisible enemy, he's been <em>incredibly</em> clear on that score, but at the end of the day, he's hurt,"</p><p> </p><p>"How can you tell?"</p><p> </p><p>"We share the same heart, <em>dingbat</em>, he's denying it, but what happened hurt him," </p><p> </p><p>"I really didn't mean to, I just--"</p><p> </p><p>"I know you didn't,"</p><p> </p><p>"I can understand if you hate me,"</p><p> </p><p>"Fucksakes, I don't, I can tell you're a decent guy, but you need to give him time, and stop trying to talk to him through me, it only ticks me off more," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce nods, "I can understand that," The two stand in awkward silence for a bit before Deuce pipes up. "Where're you headed?" </p><p> </p><p>"Mixin' some jams with Operetta,"</p><p> </p><p>"You don't mind a third, do you?"</p><p> </p><p>Holt scoffs, leaning against a nearby wall, "Why, you offering?" </p><p> </p><p>"What if I am?" </p><p> </p><p>"Then I'd say fuck it, more the merrier, c'mon," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce still feels guilty over what happened with Jackson, but the brief conversation with Holt has eased his nerves a little bit, and who knows, maybe a jam sesh will help him temporarily forget about it. He itches at the line behind his ear where scales and skin meet, his fingers brushing the arm of his shades.</p><p> </p><p>He's reminded of Jackson once more, after all, they used to be his.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>P3 has joined 👀👀</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>umm this kinda gets dark towards the end fair warning ig<br/>also weed</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Missing four days of school to Holt was never something Jackson had planned on doing, he just needed so badly to get his mental health in order because apparently it's important or some shit, but he's beginning to regret that more and more as he looks at his test scores online, vehemently begging Mr. Hack to let him retake an exam via hastily typed email.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson!"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Of course. Just my shitty luck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He turns to see none other than Deuce Gorgon himself jogging to him, unsurprisingly hardly winded considering how much stamina it takes to be as good at casketball as he is. Jackson's impressed, but he doesn't let it show on his face.</p><p> </p><p>"'Sup Deuce," He can't read Jackson's tone very well, another one of his bizarre yet conveniently frustrating skills.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce quiets down, "Look, I'm um… I know what I did the other day was stupid, I shouldn't've…" Fuck, this is proving to be a lot harder than he thought it would be, Deuce is left standing in the hall, trying and failing to come up with something to say. "I should've thought about what I was doing more, and I'm really sorry, is there any way I can make it up to you?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I should be the one apologizing, numbskull.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Forgetting it happened would be a start," Jackson groans at how douche-y he sounds before pulling Deuce into a single stalled bathroom. "I don't mean--" He sighs, why is he so fucking bad at words? "I'm not good at feelings and shit, Deuce, I never have been, it's not even really your fault, I just… I--"</p><p> </p><p>"We can forget about it if that's why you want," Deuce cuts him off, and for the first time in his life, Jackson is grateful for being spoken over, "Do you wanna come to DnD? I mean like, you're always welcome, but I can drive you,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can't help but grimace and Deuce instantly knows why, "I got the okay from Heath to stay the night, all three of us are,"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, sure I don't have anything planned, I can probably pull a few strings to stay over at Heath's if I need to," Why the hell is Jackson agreeing to this? It's not like he doesn't trust Deuce not to try anything again, matter of fact, he wouldn't classify what happened between them as 'trying' anything at all, but there's no denying it's incredibly awkward to talk to the guy you had an impromptu makeout session on your couch with, even if he is incredibly understanding about it.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson forces that memory to the back of his head lest his face turn pink while Deuce sighs, relieved.</p><p> </p><p>"Great, okay, same time as last time?" </p><p> </p><p>"For sure,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce walks away, leaving Jackson to stand on his own and curse himself internally.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I mean, it was either that or tell him I'm crushing on him in a goddamn bathroom.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson walks out, giving a small wave to a short goblin, who barely makes it a couple steps before he's swiftly pulled into a locker by a large green tentacle. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson stares, confused and highly taken aback.</p><p> </p><p>"He'll be fine," Jackson mumbles, barely audible to even himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Oh my god! You two made it!" Heath greets excitedly, weirdly excitedly. He's always been somewhat sporadic, but there's definitely something off about the way he's acting.</p><p> </p><p>And then it hits them both, quite literally, the smell of pot hits them like a ton of skunk smelling bricks.</p><p> </p><p>"Heath, are you sober?" Jackson asks cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>Heath makes a 'psh' noise in response, but doesn't directly answer his question, which tells Jackson the answer is no. He can hear Deuce desperately trying to contain his laughter from beside him.</p><p> </p><p>"Aunt Cindy's gonna kill you," Jackson mutters, but he kicks off his shoes and pulls off his jacket nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>"Not if she's at a hotel until Monday, douche," Heath shoots back. It's a terrible comeback given that grammatically, it makes little sense, but Jackson can gather what he's trying to get across anyway.</p><p> </p><p>"Hope you've got a lot of air freshener on you," </p><p> </p><p>"Hey! Deuce, Jack! C'mon we've just started, get your dice and get over here!" </p><p> </p><p>"You've ever gotten stoned before?" Deuce asks while rummaging around in his bag for his dice.</p><p> </p><p>"Once or twice, but it was a couple years ago," </p><p> </p><p>"You gonna join 'em?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck it, why not, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, that's my attitude too," Deuce chuckles under his breath, making note to grab a water bottle, "playing DnD while stoned outta your gourd makes it more fun, anyway,"</p><p> </p><p>"I've never tried it, I wouldn't know," </p><p> </p><p>"Well, you're in for quite a ride,"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Deuce was right on what he'd said earlier, Jackson has been having the time of his life, so has everyone else in the room, actually, they've all been going between campaigning and having completely aimless conversations. As of right now, Clawd was on some tangent about milfs.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, I'm just saying, even if you're not into older women, you can't deny they make attractive offspring," Clawd gestures to Jackson, "take him for example, he's got some really good genes," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson kicks Clawd in the leg, "Can you shut the fuck up about my mom being hot?!" The whole room erupts into laughter.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm just saying, she's a pretty lady," Clawd raises his hands in surrender, all the while giggling between his words.</p><p> </p><p>"God, for once I agree with Jackson, that's my fucking aunt man," Heath looks simultaneously amused and disgusted.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes! Heath, thank you!" Jackson high fives his cousin, a little harder than he means to as they both come away hissing at the mild sting.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, you can't deny that good looking people make good looking kids," Deuce pipes up, tilting his head in Jackson's direction. Clawd waggles his eyebrows at Deuce, who silently makes a <em>zip it</em> motion with his fingers. Thankfully, nobody else notices this.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah man, Jackson has this…" Gil pauses, trying to think of words, "boyish charm," is what he comes up with, and Jackson wheezes.</p><p> </p><p><em>"Boyish charm--"</em> Jackson can't breathe, that's the funniest way he's ever heard anyone describe him, he's absolutely losing it. Is everyone laughing? He can't really tell, all he can hear is his own laughter.</p><p> </p><p>In Deuce's own fit of laughter, he catches sight of Jackson and his breath catches in his throat. His smile is wide enough to make his eyes crinkle at the corners. Why doesn't Jackson smile like this that often? It suits him so well, is he sad? Deuce wishes he could pull all the sad out of him like string, then maybe everyone else in the world can see that smile of his. </p><p> </p><p>Clawd catches him staring and subtly nudges Deuce's foot with his own, giving him a knowing grin. Deuce feels an intense heat rush to his face as he flips Clawd off, not a single word exchanged between the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean hey, you were charming enough to make out with my girlfriend," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson snorts, "It was just a <em>game</em> man,"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, Deuce and Jackson made out too," Clawd pipes up nonchalantly, and Deuce seriously considers lifting his shades and turning him to stone right then, but for now he settles with mouthing I'm gonna fucking kill you.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh yeah, we did!" Jackson laughs, playfully elbowing Deuce's shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>"Damn Deuce, take my lil' cousin to dinner first," Heath cackles.</p><p> </p><p>"It was a party game--" </p><p> </p><p>"Heath, I'm older than you, ya' dipshit,"</p><p> </p><p>"I kid, I kid," It's Heath's turn to back off, grinning as he does so, "alright, so you've all made it to the dragon's cave…"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Clawd and Gil have retired to the couch and an air mattress in the living room, respectively, leaving Deuce, Jackson and Heath to retreat to the rec room, eating leftover snacks from earlier and talking about whatever comes to their heads.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh hey Deuce, didn't you mention you knew Jackson beforehand? Like, when he first transferred to Monster High,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce, who is currently feeding chip crumbs to his snake hawk, looks over at Heath, "Yeah, did I not tell you that story?" </p><p> </p><p>"Ohh boy,"</p><p> </p><p>"So picture this, it's a gorgeous autumn day and you've got a glorious window of free time between chores, so what do you do? You skateboard down to the nearest casketball court to practice for tryouts, of course,"</p><p> </p><p>"But alas!" Jackson cuts in, waving his arms for some added theatrics, "There was I, also practicing for bas-- casketball tryouts with fading hope to make a team full of werewolves and gargoyles and lord knows who else," Jackson fakes a look of sadness, woefully looking off in the distance while Heath and Deuce giggle, "after all, I had nobody to practice with," </p><p> </p><p>"Deuce Gorgon enters through stage right, pissed off he has to share the court," Deuce tries to match Jackson's enthusiasm because fuck it, if he's gonna turn this into a production, he's gonna be a damn good deuteragonist, "Hark! Jekyll notices Gorgon and challenges him to a long and strenuous battle…"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson turns to Deuce, beaming in amusement.</p><p> </p><p>"...of casketball."</p><p> </p><p>"Jekyll beats him the first time," Jackson adds, "as well as the next three," </p><p> </p><p>"Yes yes yes you're amazing at shooting hoops, <em>but that's not the point here!"</em> Deuce points a finger at Heath, who's been holding in laughter so long he thinks he may explode. "In the middle of a round, Jekyll beats Gorgon and knaps his glasses straight off his face," </p><p> </p><p>"The Gorgon, of course, finds himself in somewhat of a coil because how is he to get home without glasses? That is, until the brave and smart and incredibly handsome Jekyll steps in and saves the day, selflessly relinquishing his shades in a true display of sportsmanship," Jackson puts a hand to his chest and sits up straighter, grinning like a werecat who'd found the cream. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My god, these two are fucking whipped.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"So yeah," Jackson eats another chip, speaking around a mouthful, "that's how we met,"</p><p> </p><p>"Beautiful story," Heath is still trying not to lose it, "I'll tell it to my children, who'll tell it to theirs,"</p><p> </p><p>"I imagine you'd have to Abby-fy it for a bunch of half yeti kids," Deuce mutters, grinning at Heath's hair inadvertently igniting.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson laughs, "'We meet at casketball court, I beat Deuce and give him shades, we are now friends,'"</p><p> </p><p>"Your Abby impression is awful," Heath mutters, trying to hide the fluster on his own face.</p><p> </p><p>"Shuddup,"</p><p> </p><p>"Also why are you mentioning us having kids? We've only been dating like two and a half years man," </p><p> </p><p>"To be fair, that's a long ass time," Deuce interjects helpfully, "I mean don't count your chickens before they hatch obviously, but I think you two are good,"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, you're right, my girlfriend is awesome," Heath leans his head back and smiles dreamily.</p><p> </p><p>"Goddamn, if I didn't know you two were together I would've sworn you were in the girl crush phase," Jackson teases. </p><p> </p><p>Heath has a <em>loooot</em> of things he could say back, but out of respect, he bites his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah yeah, I love Abby, sue me, I'm also going to bed, have fun you two," Heath heads upstairs, grinning to himself the whole way. Least he can do is give these two a bit of alone time, no matter how it ends up turning out.</p><p> </p><p>The two bid him goodnight on his way out, Jackson taking a swig of apple juice that he'd poured himself possibly hours earlier.</p><p> </p><p>"Hm, so what now?" He asks, looking over at Deuce and wiping his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>"I brought a couple joints with me if you wanna get even more fucked up," </p><p> </p><p>"Sounds good," Jackson raises an eyebrow before looking thoughtfully to the side, "You know…" </p><p> </p><p>"Hm?" </p><p> </p><p>"We never did finish that casketball round, and Heath has a hoop set up in the backyard," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce grins, "I like the way you think, Jekyll," </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It's early November and also past midnight, so it's quite chilly outside, but neither Deuce nor Jackson seem to care about that at the moment, they're currently trying their hardest to beat each other at a one on one once more. Maybe it's because they're stoned, but they're both competing harder than they ever have in any other game, even at school. </p><p> </p><p>"C'mon man, are you letting me win or what?!" Jackson laughs, out of breath.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you kidding? I'm just going easy on you, don't wanna hurt you too bad when you go the fuck <em>down!" </em></p><p> </p><p>The banter seems to only spur both of them on more. Jackson almost makes it to the hoop before Deuce manages to cross him and snag the ball, shooting it through in one swift motion.</p><p> </p><p>Breathlessly, he raises his arms in the air in triumph, saying nothing since he's worn out from all the physical activity, especially given the lack of practice beforehand. His gaze shifts to Jackson, and he's not sure what he'd originally expected, but Jackson beaming with pride isn't exactly it.</p><p> </p><p>He's definitely not disappointed though.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson walks over shaking Deuce's hand, "Good game man," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce is about to parrot the phrase, but he notices how icy Jackson's hands are, "Are you cold?" </p><p> </p><p>"Hm? A little, I guess, it's no big deal though,"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He's shivering.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Without putting much thought into it, Deuce unzips his hoodie and gives it to Jackson, who takes it hesitantly, instantly feeling the all too familiar sensation of his chest growing tight when the leftover body heat begins warming him.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks," he mumbles in response, clearing his throat, "whaddya say we put those joints to good use?" </p><p> </p><p>"Oh hell yeah, they're in my pocket, let me just grab some water from inside," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson sits on the porch and rummages in Deuce's hoodie pockets, finding two unopened joint canisters as well as a lighter. He sets the paraphernalia down and stares off in the distance before resting his head in his palms.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stop it, stop it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Please Deuce, stop making this harder for me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Got some water," Jackson jolts upright, Deuce closes the sliding door behind him, now wearing his jacket. </p><p> </p><p>"Sweet," Jackson tries to ignore the knot that's magically grown in his throat and delivers a smile he hopes is convincing as he opens a canister, lighting the tip of the blunt and inhaling. "Sorry if I've been… a bit of a dick this past little while," Jackson mumbles, smoke spilling around his lips with every syllable.</p><p> </p><p>"To be fair, a lot has happened in a short amount of time,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson laughs as he exhales another puff of smoke, "True enough, there was the batshit gargoyles,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, and my mom losing it at me because of that," Deuce interjects, laughing playfully at his own misery.</p><p> </p><p>"Why would she get mad at you, though? Like it's not like you did anything wrong," Jackson chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>"'Maybe if you weren't out so late, that wouldn't have happened to your friend Jackson,'" Deuce imitates in a pitchy voice, vaguely reminiscent of his mother's. Jackson's face is far from humorous though, matter of fact he looks horrified.</p><p> </p><p>"Did she actually say that to you?" </p><p> </p><p>Deuce pauses, is that not… normal? "Um, yeah, but I mean, she was mostly mad that I was out so late,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson hesitantly rests his hand on Deuce's, looking at him with cautious compassion, "You know that isn't true, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"To a degree, she's right,"</p><p> </p><p>"Stop it, no she isn't, what happened that night was terrifying and as fucked up as this sounds, it would've been infinitely worse if you weren't with me," Jackson pauses, "I was scared that night, and it doesn't take a genius to tell you were too, but however that night could've turned out, that doesn't give her an excuse to blame you," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce is terrified at how genuine Jackson sounds, he feels like a piece of his heart is being torn out, but it's a part of him he knows was killing him, and the only person he wants to have access to it is sitting to his right.</p><p> </p><p>"My mom is just…" Deuce doesn't know what to say anymore, "she isn't a bad person, she's just a broken person," </p><p> </p><p>"That doesn't give her an excuse to treat you the way she does," </p><p> </p><p>"I know, but she doesn't have anyone else," Deuce pauses, Jackson says nothing. The silence between them is deafening. </p><p> </p><p>Jackson finally pipes up, voice quiet, "Do you… have any other family?" </p><p> </p><p>Jackson regrets the question as soon as he hears Deuce's breathing hitch, but he manages to answer regardless, his voice barely anything more than a hoarse whisper, "I have my aunt Stheno and my cousin Viperine, but they live in Greece," Deuce gulps down what feels like steel wool, Jackson says nothing, expecting him to continue. Damn it, why is this guy so good at getting so much out of him? Moreover, why does he genuinely want to open up to Jackson? He takes a hit of his own joint because if he's gonna say this, to hell with being sober. "I, um, I have a dad, but I've never talked to him, I prefer to pretend he doesn't exist honestly,"</p><p> </p><p>"Have I heard of him?"</p><p> </p><p>"Have you read Greek mythology?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p> </p><p>"Think about it a bit," </p><p> </p><p>The action isn't easy given he's intoxicated, but Jackson digs through his memories of all the Greek mythology he's read over the years for his various history classes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Medusa 'seduced' Poseidon before being cursed by Athena for defiling her temple…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>… oh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson stares at the frosty grass, slack jawed.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," Deuce delivers a joyless laugh upon seeing Jackson's face, "I feel like mom just kinda sees me as… a constant reminder, I guess?" </p><p> </p><p>"I can't imagine how that must feel,"</p><p> </p><p>"Taught me what an inferiority complex is pretty early on," Deuce is trying to be funny, but everything he says just makes him sound more and more miserable, he's baring a part of his soul to Jackson in a way he never has with anyone, not even to Cleo. He's terrified, what is Jackson even gonna say? Is he gonna stop talking to him? It would absolutely destroy him if it came to that, but who is he to blame him? He's not much more than dry humor and baggage.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson does none of that, he just moves closer to Deuce, leaning on his shoulder, somewhat.</p><p> </p><p>"You wanna know why I transferred schools in my sophomore year?" Jackson mutters. Deuce is undeniably intrigued, but he doesn't want Jackson to feel obligated to share something just because he did. His morbid curiosity gets the better of him though, and he gives a slow nod.</p><p> </p><p>"So it became common knowledge pretty quickly that both my parents are monsters, I'm talking a couple weeks into my freshman year, a lot of people were cool about it, but the people that weren't made it incredibly clear, and I basically became their number one target for the entirety of my time there. I tried everything to make them stop, I ignored them, I made it into a joke, I told higher ups, but everything I did just made it grow more and more relentless, and the teachers did absolutely nothing about it, saying that it was just puberty induced aggression or whatever, my mental health got worse and worse, and it became so hard for me to talk to people, which resulted in me losing a lot of the friends I had, hell I began looking forward to classes more than lunch since it was harder for me to be bullied there, and ended up just studying alone whenever I had free time," His voice quivers slightly, but he doesn't stop speaking, "I'd go days without eating or sleeping, begging my mom to just let me stay home. It seemed like everything about me was just… something new for these people to poke fun at, so I just did my best to never be noticed since that would be infinitely easier than constantly being harassed,"</p><p>Jackson hesitates, few people know this part of the story, not even Heath knows. He gulps down his nerves, deciding to just say it. "A week before I transferred to Monster High, a school official-- a janitor or something, I'm not sure-- um, they found me about to jump off the school's roof," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce is floored at the bomb Jackson just dropped and looks over at him, unable to hide the shock on his face. He knew Jackson was a victim of bullying at one point in his life, hell, he still is sort of, but he deals with it with so much grace that it's easy to forget sometimes. </p><p> </p><p>"Is that why Manny never really seems to bother you?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson scoffs, "A few homophobic remarks and the occasional 'nerd' are nothing compared to what I've dealt with, I'm surprised he hasn't grabbed me by the legs and comically shaken me upside down to try and get my lunch money yet," </p><p> </p><p>"I-I…" Deuce isn't sure what to say, what could he say? "does anyone else know?" </p><p> </p><p>"Aside from the entirety of New Salem High, who apparently held a month long bullying seminar according to Clair, and my parents? No, you're the only one,"</p><p> </p><p>"If you weren't comfortable telling me something like that-- you weren't obligated to,"</p><p> </p><p>"I know I wasn't, but now there's nothing hidden between either of us," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There's one thing I'm hiding from you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce stares straight ahead, that's kind of a nice way of looking at it.</p><p> </p><p>"It's in the past now, and obviously people are still assholes at Monster High, but everyone has to deal with assholes, hell, someone out there probably considers me an asshole too," </p><p> </p><p>"That's a weirdly optimistic form of nihilism," Deuce laughs, "Still, I'm sorry you had to go through that," </p><p> </p><p>"Like I said, 's in the past, and now our sad origin stories are out in the open,"</p><p> </p><p>"Promise you're not gonna tell anyone what I told you?"</p><p> </p><p>"If I do, feel free to say what happened to me," Jackson laughs, puffing from his blunt. "What time is it even?" </p><p> </p><p>"Like, 2:30 probably,"</p><p> </p><p>"Why do we always get melodramatic when three a.m rolls around?"</p><p> </p><p>"Bitching hour?" Deuce proposes, Jackson laughs.</p><p> </p><p>"God, for us? Probably," Jackson coughs, silently motioning for Deuce's water bottle, who hastily passes it to him.</p><p> </p><p>"By the way, what were you gonna say in the bathroom earlier?" Jackson hesitates, somewhat confused about what he's talking about, "like, you know, at school?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh Jesus fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, it's kinda…" </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, feeling his heart hammer against his ribcage. This is the very thing he's been dreading, and Deuce is asking it so goddamn casually?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is he the idiot, or am I?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"It's stupid," Jackson starts, fumbling with the joint between his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>"None of what you say is stupid," </p><p> </p><p>"I fell for you Deuce, and I'm a fucking idiot because of it,"</p><p> </p><p>Well, there it is. Out in the fucking open. The secret he's been keeping from his friend for almost a month now, shared in a moment that, no matter how Deuce's reaction goes, will forever exist within these two's uncertain history.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce just laughs softly.</p><p> </p><p>"I guess that makes me a huge dumbass too then, huh?" </p><p> </p><p>Jackson can barely register what was just implied before Deuce's lips crash against his, making a whirlwind of emotions rip through his entire nervous system, sending his brain into haywire. He can't seem to help but melt into Deuce's contact though, finally getting what he's been wanting for three weeks now.</p><p> </p><p>When Deuce pulls away, puffs of steam leave their lips connected somewhat still. Whether it's leftover from the weed or it's from the cold, neither can tell nor care, it isn't what's important right now.</p><p> </p><p>"How long?" Deuce asks, weirdly somewhat winded. </p><p> </p><p>"I-I'm not sure, honestly, I mean, I realized it when you found me asleep in the library, but I think it's been longer than that," Jackson's eyes flit back to Deuce, who he's been far too anxious to make eye contact with this entire time. "I didn't know you uh… you're into guys," </p><p> </p><p>"I actually didn't know either until recently," Deuce responds, laughing softly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, "the spin the bottle thing, it kinda made me… reconsider," </p><p> </p><p>"Well shit, I'm honored," Deuce snorts.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up and kiss me," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson wants to do nothing but that right now, he hastily puts the half finished joint down and moves back towards Deuce, kissing him even when both of their mouths go dry as sandpaper.</p><p> </p><p>It's a moment of pure indulgence, and for once, they both feel as though they deserve it. It's an ungodly hour of the morning, nobody in their right mind is awake, this moment, however long it may last or whatever it'll amount to, belongs to them alone, and heaven forbid they let the cruelty of fate or destiny or coincidence or whatever the fuck take away one more beautiful thing from both of them again.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson feels something nibbling at his ears, and he tries hard to keep from laughing, but stifling it grows near impossible. Deuce pulls away with an amused expression.</p><p> </p><p>"Got the giggles?" </p><p> </p><p>"Your snakes are eating me," </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah that happens sometimes," Deuce moves down to Jackson's jaw and into the crook of his neck, smiling as Jackson laughs at the sensation of being nibbled on by half a dozen tiny snakes.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm ticklish no--" Jackson snorts again, and Deuce just hums, not bothering to stop them even though he very well can, and instead pulls Jackson into his lap, continuing kissing his neck.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson stops laughing and instead lets out small blissful sighs, stroking the nape of Deuce's neck, trailing right over the smallest traces of scales there.</p><p> </p><p>"What happens now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you mean long term or within the next few minutes?" </p><p> </p><p>"The latter," </p><p> </p><p>"I mean I have a pretty good guess, based on where you're sitting--" Jackson swats him as his face turns cherry red, yet still, he considers Deuce's words.</p><p> </p><p>"Heath has a guest bedroom in the basement, we can hole up there for the night," Jackson mumbles as quietly as possible, weirdly paranoid someone is gonna hear the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>"Sounds great to me, inside?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson stands, helping Deuce up and grabbing the minimal belongings they'd brought with them.</p><p> </p><p>"Meet you there," </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EDIT: y'all the amount of attention this has gotten is INSANE i cant even begin to describe how thankful i am to all the kudos and comments left.</p><p>this is the first fanfic ive written since i was like 13 i think? and this is the first one ive actually posted on here, so you can imagine my shock when it ended up getting the traction it did!!</p><p>a lot of this has just been planned as i go (which is why some of the earlier chapters probably don't make the most sense LMAO) but i do have a basic outline written out, and there are a few chapters of this left, don't worry-- I'm too much of a sucker for a happy ending to turn this depressing</p><p>i DO have something else for this particular storyline planned which i hinted at in another chapter, soo ahah keep ur eyes peeled for that ig</p><p>seriously tho, thank u for all your kind words, you have no idea how much they mean to me ❤️</p><p>- finn</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>when i said slow burn</p><p>i meant slow burn</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleeping with Deuce last night was a god fucking awful idea, as evidenced by the fact that Jackson is currently hiding in Heath's bathroom, praying to some kind of overseeing deity that nobody else has caught on to what happened between the two. Oh, and also trying to contain a panic attack. Yeah, that too.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't remember much from the night before aside from some vague memories blurred and mixed together, some things connect with others, but overall it's impossible to tell what began the spur of the moment game of tonsil hockey that caused them to wake up in the same bed. If he's to guess, he'd say telling Deuce that he fell for him (which is kind of an exaggeration, a crush doesn't really count as 'falling' for someone, but so far that's the least of his concerns) then Deuce telling him he felt the same way, but thinking about that right now seems like a death sentence, so he's avoiding it like the plague. </p><p> </p><p>Again, it's impossible to make sense of his muddled recollections, so for all Jackson knows, it could've started when he decided to tell Deuce about his suicide attempt over a year before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>God.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It seems so cheap when he thinks about it now, even if he was being one hundred percent honest at the time, like some dumb way to give himself character or garner sympathy for something he really doesn't deserve pity for. He hasn't even told most of his family what happened on that rooftop, why would he? No one else needs to know.</p><p> </p><p>It's in the past. He's over it. He decided to do it back then, but it didn't happen, so it's fine. He doesn't need to think about it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm not an object of pity, why did I try making myself one?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Jackson, I've gotta brush my teeth, lemme in?" It's just Heath, it should be safe, right? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I guess it is his bathroom.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson opens the door, sitting back on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey so uh…" Heath sits beside him, "you okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"I thought you were gonna brush your teeth,"</p><p> </p><p>"Well I mean yeah I am, but I figure checking in on my cousin who bolted in here as soon as he woke up is, you know, kinda important too,"</p><p> </p><p>"Your breath smells like something died and I'm sitting a foot away from you, <em>Jesus</em> Heath, mouthwash at least and then we can talk,"</p><p> </p><p>Heath rolls his eyes and sneers childishly before standing over the sink and wetting his toothbrush.</p><p> </p><p>"Is it about Deuce?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson looks like a cross between a kicked puppy and a bull being shown a cloth.</p><p> </p><p>"How the fuck do you know?"</p><p> </p><p>Heath says nothing, just brushes his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"Fucking answer me, firenuts, <em>how do you know?!"</em> Jackson weakly kicks his shin, Heath laughs and spits out the toothpaste, gargling water for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>"Hickies man, you're covered in 'em,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole, especially when he taps his neck and feels a definite sting.</p><p> </p><p>"Did anyone else notice?"</p><p> </p><p>"You and I are the only ones awake, so aside from the guy who put them there no,"</p><p> </p><p>"How… how bad are they?"</p><p> </p><p>"I failed Biteology and I can guess you've got an iron deficiency,"</p><p> </p><p>"What the hell does that mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"Purple, man, they're purple,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson groans and shoves his face in his hands, "I'm an idiot, Heath, why did I do that?!"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean are you into him?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson looks at Heath, utterly bewildered. He can't believe he's outed himself to his cousin of all people, and now he wants him to talk about his stupid out of control feelings? All of this screams a terrible idea, but it's not as though Jackson has been known for making smart decisions as of late.</p><p> </p><p>"You're not gonna judge me or whatever?" Jackson hates how meek he sounds.</p><p> </p><p>"Dear god, why would I?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because I'm not straight?"</p><p> </p><p>Heath looks at Jackson dumbly, staying silent for an uncomfortable amount of time before he speaks.</p><p> </p><p>"Who said I am?"</p><p> </p><p>"You're always flirting with girls though?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't always know they're girls,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson tries to think of something else to say that doesn't sound weirdly heteronormative, "they have long hair?"</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I just have a thing for long hair,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson says nothing, it's a fair point after all.</p><p> </p><p>"Anyway, we're not making this about me, how was Deuce?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not having this conversation with you,"</p><p> </p><p>"C'mon, at least tell me if he was good or not?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, Heath, you're like eleven,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sixteen!" Heath sighs, feigning annoyance, "at least tell me if he has like… any body hair? Because I've been so confused about that for <em>years--"</em></p><p> </p><p>Jackson stands, leaving the washroom. "Again, I'm not having that fucking conversation,"</p><p> </p><p>"Buzzkill."</p><p> </p><p>If Heath says anything else, Jackson doesn't hear it before the door shuts on him. </p><p> </p><p><em>Okay,</em> Jackson attempts to compartmentalize how this morning will go as he walks to the kitchen, <em>Deuce may want to talk about what happened between the two of us, he may not, maybe I can steer the conversation toward or away from it--</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck, what do I even want?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>His question stays unanswered when he finds that Deuce has beat him to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Jackson doesn't even know what to prepare himself for.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, morning,"</p><p> </p><p>"M-morning," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Great contribution, Jekyll, stellar.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson clears his throat, "How'd you sleep?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, fine, you?"</p><p> </p><p>Something about this doesn't feel right. Deuce is acting weirdly aloof and while Jackson wasn't expecting heart shaped waffles served to him in bed, at least acknowledging what happened between them both would've been nice. Maybe Deuce is panicking too? It's not as though he doesn't have a couple marks on his neck as well.</p><p> </p><p>"I uh, I slept okay,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson pours his own cup and waits for it to cool before adding in sugar. As tempted as he is to just chug the whole thing, the tension is killing him.</p><p> </p><p>"Are we not talking about it?"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce stays silent for fifteen minutes worth of seconds before he speaks.</p><p> </p><p>"I guess not?"</p><p> </p><p>Narrowing his eyes, Jackson downs the coffee then. It burns his mouth but he can't find it in him to care. </p><p> </p><p>"Wait-- I didn't mean--"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm gonna head home," Jackson sets the cup in the sink, tone absolutely seething.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, I can drive you,"</p><p> </p><p>"No, it's fine, it isn't that long of a walk," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce groans, "What I said came out wrong, I'm sorry,"</p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't matter,"</p><p> </p><p>"If it doesn't matter, then why are you being so passive aggressive?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not--" Jackson cuts himself off. Yeah, he is passive aggressive, and Deuce has every right to call him on that. "Look, I'm not expecting a marriage proposal, but it's not like we can just ignore the things we said and did,"</p><p> </p><p>"I just…" Deuce sighs once more, tapping the ceramic of his mug with his fingertips, "I don't know if it was a one off because I don't even know how I feel,"</p><p> </p><p>"You were pretty clear last night,"</p><p> </p><p>"I was also incredibly baked,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson says nothing, only scoffs and heads toward Heath's basement to grab his things. </p><p> </p><p>He can't lie and say he doesn't feel somewhat used, but he also can't say he's surprised. Did he expect this of Deuce? Admittedly, no. He wouldn't have confessed and then slept with him if he had, he's smarter than that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Am I?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Even so, he feels way out of Deuce's league, and not just in terms of appearance. Deuce is charismatic and kind, Jackson is a red herring for anger issues and anxiety, what on earth could someone like Deuce see in him?</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about this as he puts on a change of clothes, tying a bow tie without putting much thought into the action. He doesn't really need to anymore, he's been doing it so long he could probably do it blindfolded. </p><p> </p><p><em>Maybe he just wants science notes…</em> Jackson muses. If that's the case, Jackson would be devastated, but it's not as though it's the first time someone flirted with him to pass a class.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I fell for it every time too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't think Deuce would do something as cruel as that. At least he hopes, at the moment that seems to be all he can do to keep himself from completely breaking down and sobbing.</p><p> </p><p>When he goes back to the kitchen dressed, Clawd and Gil are both awake, apparently smart enough to connect the dots on how Deuce and Jackson ended up with hickies that neither had before last night. Deuce has left the room already, which could be a blessing in disguise if Jackson wasn't tempted to bash his head on the granite countertop.</p><p> </p><p>"Tell anyone and I'll kill both of you," Jackson's tone is low and deadpan, neither say anything. "I'm serious, I'll make it my hill to die on,"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>School is hell, not helped by the fact Deuce and Jackson share a class at both the start and end of the day, so the dread never leaves either of them. Thank god for the lunch hour though, Jackson doesn't feel like eating in the creepateria, and as luck would have it, his mother slipped a ten into his wallet with a note asking if he can pick up some bread from a corner store a block or so away from the school when he's free. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fate and coincidence have a funny way of working together, I guess. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>For once in his life, Jackson remembers to bring a jacket, but even with the added layer, he feels the signature November chill of Oregon, with a thin powdering of snow on the ground. It would be pretty if Jackson wasn't feeling so shit.</p><p> </p><p>Pushing the door open with his arm, the small jingle from the bell above the door comforts him a little. It's expected and right now predictability isn't so bad. Jackson gives a polite wave to the cashier and heads to an aisle toward the back, giving a once over on the bread they have to offer. Off brand stuff usually isn't great, but at the end of the day, bread is bread.</p><p> </p><p>The jingle alerts Jackson and purely inadvertently, he looks up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fate and coincidence have a funny way of wanting to constantly fuck me over.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson ducks down, cursing silently and pulling a random bag of bread with him, holding it close to his chest and praying that Deuce just pays and leaves. He feels rather childish, hiding from his friend in a corner store because he doesn't want to talk to him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Are we friends? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the fuck are we?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson?"</p><p> </p><p>He whips his head around to see Deuce looking down at him, clutching a bag of rye bread like a newborn baby and crouching behind a shelf like some kind of lunatic, even he can admit he doesn't have a right to look at Deuce like he's the weird one.</p><p> </p><p>"What… are you doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing-- None of your business, what um--" Jackson stands straight and clears his throat, "Can I help you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Um, no I guess I just…" Deuce doesn't really know what to say, fuck it, neither of them know what to say, so they just stand awkwardly in the bread aisle of a privately owned corner store for a few moments.</p><p> </p><p>"I've uh, gotta buy--"</p><p> </p><p>"Cool yeah okay me too,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson goes to a drink cooler and pulls down a cheap energy drink in a neon green can, purely because of the flavor at first but when his eyes dart to Deuce a few feet away, he can't help but think that of course it's green.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ignore it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He goes to a sweets shelf and picks up a Milky Way bar, heading to the till and putting his uninspiring inventory on the counter along with his ten dollar bill.</p><p> </p><p>"Is that everything for you?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson delivers a silent nod, stuffing his items in his backpack, aside from the energy drink which he just begins chugging now.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson, can we talk?"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce places a hand on his shoulder, and Jackson feels a twinge of guilt over the way he reacted the last time they 'talked'.</p><p> </p><p>"Let's head back to school and talk on the way," </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I know it felt like I just kinda…" Deuce pauses, "you know, used you? But I promise that wasn't the case,"</p><p> </p><p>"I know," Jackson mumbles, chilly air forming clouds of steam that punctuate their words. "I was hurt and being stupid because of it,"</p><p> </p><p>"I do like you, but I mean…"</p><p> </p><p>"You just recently figured out you're not straight?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's cathartic and terrifying,"</p><p> </p><p>"Believe me, I get that," Jackson laughs, kicking a small chunk of snow. "Deuce look, I like you too, but I just…" He swallows his nerves, "I dunno, I need you to be kinda clearer with me? Like, if it's a no strings attached thing that you're wanting, then I'm up for that, if it's more, then sure, I'm up for that too, but I don't want to be strung along expecting something that's not gonna happen,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson feels shitty about saying this, boiling down what he's saying feels a bit like an ultimatum, but his therapist says he needs to be clear with what he wants, and this is about as clear as he can get.</p><p> </p><p>"If you need time to figure it out, that's fine, and I'll still be here, but I'm not just someone you can mess around with and lead on,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce looks understanding, yet somehow Jackson can't help but feel like he's kicked a puppy.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry,"</p><p> </p><p>"It's okay, I get it,"</p><p> </p><p>"If you don't wanna talk to me for a while I understand,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce shrugs and smiles somewhat sadly.</p><p> </p><p>"It's fine Jack, I get it, no hard feelings, 'kay?" </p><p> </p><p>Jackson gulps thickly and nods, heading through Monster High's main entrance and going their separate ways to their respective classes.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson set boundaries, he did what needed to be done, so why does he feel so guilty? Why does he feel the need to go back and apologize? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I really have a thing for him, don't I?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This isn't just a crush anymore is it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>God, I'm so fucking screwed.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>two more chapters to go boys ✊✊✊ thank u for sticking around this long</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heehee hoohoo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rule against fanging out in the catacombs' archives hadn't stopped Jackson from routinely going in to study when the library wasn't quiet enough to cut it. The only problem with this being that there was no way to tell the time aside from his phone, which, currently, is dead.</p><p> </p><p>He figured he'd just finish off his Mad Science essay and then get out-- it's not like anyone really went in, Bloodgood herself included-- but he'd underestimated how time consuming the paper was going to be.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn't certain how long he was in there for when he'd felt his eyes beginning to close, could've been anywhere from an hour to four, he just sips his latte (which has now gone cold), and winces upon the feeling of grounds going down his throat, gagging in disgust before going back to his notebook.</p><p> </p><p>"You gonna finish that?" A masculine voice pipes up seemingly out of nowhere, obviously startling Jackson who was very deep under the impression he was alone.</p><p> </p><p>He whips his head around, no one in sight.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello?!" </p><p> </p><p>He stands up, obviously far too abruptly, and stubs his toe on the table's leg.</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck--! Shit! Damn it! <em>Fuckfuckfuck--</em>" In this moment of subtle reaction to injury, he slips on a piece of paper left on the ground and lands flat on his back, screwing his eyes shut and groaning at the dull ache.</p><p> </p><p>When he opens his eyes once more, he sees the same blue skinned boy from the other day in his mad science class, obviously trying not to crack up.</p><p> </p><p>"You okay?" </p><p> </p><p>"Peachy," Jackson responds flatly, taking his offered hand and hoisting himself up. "Do I know you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Kinda? We sit together in Mr. Hack's,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh yeah, you yelled at me for clicking my pen,"</p><p> </p><p>"Name's Invisibilly, and I didn't <em>yell</em> at you," They both scoff drily.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson," Jackson gives Invisibilly's hand a firm shake, "how'd you even find this place?"</p><p> </p><p>"Operetta helped me," Invisibilly shrugs, leaning against the table, "wasn't too keen on it, granted,"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, she didn't really wanna show me this place either,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'd actually figured Holt had found it considering I've seen him here a couple times too, I thought it was some weird hookup spot considering the marks on your-- his neck,"</p><p> </p><p>"Monster High is weird, but I don't think Bloodgood would allow an underground brothel," Jackson pauses, "and for the record, these are <em>my</em> hickies, not that it's your business either way,"</p><p> </p><p>"Right," </p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing down here?"</p><p> </p><p>"I heard you can find test answers down here," Invisibilly shrugs, taking a swig of Jackson's latte.</p><p> </p><p>"And not because you thought this place was a cathouse?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've got a girlfriend,"</p><p> </p><p>"Ohh, that's right," Something occurs to Jackson that he feels stupid for just catching, "Wait, Holt was down here? What for?"</p><p> </p><p>"Umm, beats me, I think he was looking for something, not sure what though," Jackson doesn't need to ask, he knows exactly what Holt was trying to find. Jackson stalks toward another end of the room, where he'd thrown their grandfather's notebook a week before. </p><p> </p><p>As he thumbed through the aged parchment pages, remembering Holt's handwriting in the back of his head, staring at the strokes of ink, realizing that no quill could achieve the same level of smoothness, Jackson seethed, white hot rage coursing through his veins, rendering his blood both scalding yet cold.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How the fuck did I not see this sooner?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The crazed writing isn't Henry Jekyll's, it's Holt's.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, I've gotta head out, talk to you soon Invisibilly,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson storms out of the room at a steady pace, leaving his classmate unaware and afraid of what he'd just initiated.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Throwing the small leather notebook against a wall and slumping down in his desk angrily seems to alleviate Jackson's rage somewhat, for a good five seconds at least, until the tears come and he pounds his fist on the wooden top.</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck! Fuck you Holt, you son of a bitch I hate you!"</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, he feels rather childish yelling at nothing, but it satisfies some animalistic urge to scream until his throat wears out, it's all he can do to avoid making a stupid decision he'll end up regretting in the long run. </p><p> </p><p>When he seems to either be out of adrenaline or just too embarrassed to continue yelling, Jackson stares at the floor, staying completely silent.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mom and dad must still be at work.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A tone from his iCoffin grabs his attention, it's a text notification.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Heath</strong></span>: omgv </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Heath</strong></span>: ajckbfind deuce is bs c b f</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: fascinating heath, tell me more</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Heath</strong></span>: wrong number</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jackson doesn't think anything of it. Heath is probably not sober right now anyway, it could've been a misdial for all he knows. It's for the first time since he was in the archives however long ago that Jackson notices how tired he is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My sleep schedule is getting worse again.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He delivers a glance to an alarm clock sitting on his nightstand.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nine p.m. isn't a weird time to nap, right?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson answers his own question by sliding off his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Time is fake anyway.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Wowww, Jack, son of a bitch? We've got the same mom,"</p><p> </p><p>Holt's pissed, Jackson can't blame him.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, who's the one that destroyed a centuries old journal that he knew I was trying to find?!"</p><p> </p><p>They're both pissed.</p><p> </p><p>"Aww, upset you can't read your favorite storybook?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Holt, that was something I needed, you knew that and you still did that! What the <em>fuck</em> is your problem?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I'm just upset that your fucking ego seems to take top priority!"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson laughs, feeling a weird mix of bewildered and furious. Holt can't lie and say a knot isn't forming in the back of his throat as well.</p><p> </p><p>"You are incorrigible!"</p><p> </p><p>"You're a control freak!" </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, I'm sorry, I guess destroying a historic artifact because I wanted to find it doesn't make you a control freak?! My bad, missed the fucking memo!" </p><p> </p><p>"Always the fucking victim,"</p><p> </p><p>"Holt--"</p><p> </p><p>"Whatever, it's fine, don't break your ribs trying to suck yourself off,"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my gh--"</p><p> </p><p>"I guess you've found someone to do it for you though," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson's eye twitches as he clenches and unclenches his fists.</p><p> </p><p>"You keep his name out of your <em>fucking</em> mouth,"</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence.</p><p> </p><p>"So," Jackson starts, "we've got the yelling out of the way, please just tell me why you wrecked the journal,"</p><p> </p><p>"No,"</p><p> </p><p>"Holt,"</p><p> </p><p>"I feel stupid about it,"</p><p> </p><p>"For the love of--"</p><p> </p><p>"You were trying to get rid of me," Jackson's gaze shoots up, that's the last thing he expected from Holt. "you were gonna separate us and then kill me,"</p><p> </p><p>The conversation seems to have halted, neither being sure of what to say next.</p><p> </p><p>"That's quite the conclusion to jump to,"</p><p> </p><p>"Well why was the original serum made?" </p><p> </p><p>That's a fair point.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson exhales, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms.</p><p> </p><p>"You wanna hear something I found out about the Hyde phenomena?"</p><p> </p><p>"Shoot I guess,"</p><p> </p><p>"Over the generations, the Hyde alter ego became less of a manifestation of sin and more into a separate person with an opposite personality to the Jekyll counterpart,"</p><p> </p><p>Holt seems confused but overall catches on somewhat. "Huh,"</p><p> </p><p>"Why do you think I would want to kill you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because I made your life miserable?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson laughs, thinking about how his life turned into some kind of fucked up satirical rom com parody, all at the hands of a scaly casketball player. </p><p> </p><p>"No I think I did that myself,"</p><p> </p><p>Holt wants to ask, Jackson stays silent for the time being, both wincing slightly at the small beams of light.</p><p> </p><p>It's quarter after seven somehow, an hour before Jackson needs to leave for school. He sits up drearily and rubs the sleep from his eyes, jostling his glasses slightly before he realizes they're still on. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I slept in my clothes, damn it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson huffs before he pulls off his old dress shirt and sweater vest, applying deodorant to his underarms and changing into fresher clothes. Showering seems like too much hassle and he probably smells fine enough. </p><p> </p><p>Sleeping at the time he did wasn't the best idea he's ever had, as evidenced by his drowsiness and inability to make time in his schedule to even get coffee, but oddly enough he feels somewhat refreshed as he gets into his car and slumps into the drivers, starting the ignition and blasting the heat.</p><p> </p><p>There's the issue of Deuce and Jackson being inexplicably whipped for him, but Jackson doesn't feel like thinking about that right now. A downward spiral into panic and self loathing is the last thing he needs at eight in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Besides, it's Friday, he has all weekend to do that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i love random plot points</p><p>anyway stick around for the owo finale owo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>its been almost a month im so sorry here's a doozy final chapter to make up for it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Okay dude, you can do this, breathe in, breathe out, no big deal.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: jackson </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: look okay this is a terrible way to do this</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: I know that</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: but I need to ask this</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: do you wanna maybe</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: go on a date or something?</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: oh my god</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: shit</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: you're not jackson</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: fuvk me backwards</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: hello heath</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Heath careens between laughing at Deuce, who has his head face down in his folded arms looking about two seconds from just offing himself and laughing at the reason Deuce is two seconds from offing himself.</p><p> </p><p>Currently the two are on a spare period at the nearby coffin bean since Heath wouldn't agree to keep his mouth shut 'without a price', as if having to wrestle his phone out of his hands to keep him from sending Jackson screenshots of the slip up wasn't enough.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry I'm sorry," Heath wheezes as his laughing fit mercifully subsides. Still, he doesn't sound sorry at all, "so you're really into him huh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Die please,"</p><p> </p><p>"I was gonna give you advice dipshit,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce whips his head upwards as his snakes hiss excitedly, but says nothing, just looks at Heath expectantly, who in turn suppresses a smile but nonetheless continues, "If you're gonna take him somewhere, don't tell him right off the bat it's a date, he embarrasses easily so leave him to figure that out on his own,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce goes to say something back, but he bites his tongue. Heath's known Jackson a lot longer than he has anyway, plus it isn't terrible advice considering it's Heath's.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks," He replies meekly.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you know where you're gonna take him?"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce gulps thickly, fiddling with the straw on his (now empty) ice coffee, "I… had an idea but I'm kinda doubting it now,"</p><p> </p><p>"Classic restaurant?" Heath snorts.</p><p> </p><p>"Again, die,"</p><p> </p><p>Heath just scoffs and then continues, "It's not a bad idea, but it isn't Jackson. He can't converse for shit,"</p><p> </p><p>"Says the guy who thought booger related pickup lines were knockouts when he was fourteen," Deuce mutters under his breath, Heath hears this but ignores him all the same.</p><p> </p><p>"He'd freeze up like a deer in headlights, fall over like some sort of fainting goat,"</p><p> </p><p>"Heath this really isn't helpful,"</p><p> </p><p>"You're thinking based on stuff you used to do with Cleo, but you know Jackson, what do you think he'd like doing?" </p><p> </p><p>Oddly enough, Heath is right, Cleo is the only person Deuce has dated long term and her and Jackson are obviously nowhere near the same type of person.</p><p> </p><p>Deuce drums his fingers on the tabletop and tries desperately to think of what Jackson would enjoy as a first date, but oddly enough he's having a hard time coming up with something given that Jackson's given him very little insight into his romantic life. Not that he ever really expected him to.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Take him to my place? No, mom would have a fit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What about DnD? You can't really do that with two players…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Deuce's eyes widen as he shoots upward, an excited chorus of hissing accompanying this, "I just thought of something perfect, oh my god," He laughs in triumph.</p><p> </p><p>"What is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Heath gimme a twenty,"</p><p> </p><p>"Okay fine, don't tell me and take my money then," Heath tosses a wadded bill towards Deuce indignantly, who pulls out his phone and quickly types directions and keywords into a search bar as he jogs out the door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The closest place is twenty ish minutes outta town, that's not too bad is it? I definitely couldn't convince him to come with me today though, plus it's Thursday...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tomorrow, I'll text him tomorrow.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Another week of aimlessly studying has gone by and Jackson is bored out of his skull. He's completed enough homework to make up for the time he'd lost to Holt and then some and now he has no clue what to do. His hand ghosts over his iCoffin instinctively, only catching himself when he's about to pick it up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why do I keep thinking about him?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson knows exactly why, he's a genius, simple as <em>I'm smitten for the guy, </em>but he doesn't know how or when it ended up happening. Has he always liked Deuce? The more he thinks about the way every interaction with him felt when he was sixteen and the only 'human' in a monster school, the answer becomes clearer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>At least I know it wasn't just tension, I guess.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's a damn scientist, but emotions aren't easy for even the most brilliant, and if the past month and a half is any indication, he's nowhere near coming close to brilliancy.</p><p> </p><p>Funny how every interaction the both have feels both incredibly profound and also like the most ridiculous bullshit known to man or monsterkind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Weird how we always find eachother again.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A text tone, Jackson laughs half-heartedly to himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Quote the raven…</em>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Deuce</strong></span>: are you free in a few hours?</p><p> </p><p><em>Nevermore</em>.</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: i have way too much free time right now actually</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Deuce</strong></span>: sweet im picking you up at five</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: huh ok</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: where're we going? </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Deuce</strong></span>: brony convention</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>Deuce</strong></span>: its a surprise dingbat</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"><strong>You</strong></span>: alrighty cool see you then</p><p> </p><p>Jackson stares at his phone screen, thoughts swimming around in his brain like a thick stew of hormonal giddiness.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Did I just get asked out or am I overthinking this?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He really needs to stop asking himself questions he already knows the answers to.</p><p> </p><p>Looking down at himself, Jackson immediately feels the urge to change into something nicer, or at least more appropriate to go out in than a <em>Toxic Crimson Dancer</em> shirt and an old pair of jeans.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear god how many years has it been since I've been on a date? Is this even a date? What do people even wear anymore what the fuck? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rooting through his dresser, he comes across a simple off white dress shirt which he could probably slap a nice vest and ironed jeans over.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Whatever, I wear pretty much the same thing every day anyway.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>As he rolls on some <em>Old Spice</em> and hurriedly jogs over the pile of clothes on his floor while attempting to redress, he hears the sound of the front door opening downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He whispers through clenched teeth, grabbing a lazily folded tweed vest off of a chair and shoving his arms into it while grabbing a tie he thinks might go.</p><p> </p><p>"Jackson! Are you home?"</p><p> </p><p>"No!"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you okay? What are you doing?" He hears his mother's voice grow closer accompanied by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing, I'm uh-- doing nothing!"</p><p> </p><p>A knock.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson surrenders with a groan. "Come in,"</p><p> </p><p>His mom seemsto read his expression immediately, she's always been frustratingly good at that, "Going somewhere?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson really hopes his face isn't as red as it feels, given his luck though it's probably at least three shades darker. "It's um…" She stays silent, a growing grin on her face as she awaits an explanation, "Deuce asked me to hang out and I… uh…"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, okay I get it," Jackson can't even deny what he knows she's thinking so he just stares at his feet and turns beet red as she pecks his forehead and pats his shoulder before leaving the room, "Let me know if you won't be back before ten,"</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks mom," He squeaks out, refusing to break eye contact with the floor.</p><p> </p><p>She closes the door behind her, Jackson straightens, giving his cheeks a quick slap and pacing around the room.</p><p> </p><p><em>Get it together Jekyll, you've known Deuce for over a year now, you've made out two and a half times, you defiled your cousin's guest room together, a date is fucking nothing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If this is even a date.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It's probably not a date.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He hears his text tone and the anxiety rises in his stomach once more as he picks it up, sure enough he hears a car honk from the driveway.</p><p> </p><p>"Deuce is here!"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson grabs a warm cardigan to wear (because they've already done the jacket sharing cliche) and all but charges down the stairs and steps into a pair of shoes, waving his mom goodbye and knocking on the green corvette's passenger window.</p><p> </p><p>"'S open," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson slides into the seat, greeting Deuce with a small wave and a quiet 'hey', trying not to sound as nervous as he feels.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Just two guys, hanging out, as pals, nothing romantic about this at all.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"You look nice," </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jackson gulps the thick ball of nerves that seems to be growing in his throat, "Thank-- uh, thank you, so d'you," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce wordlessly starts the ignition with a small smile on his face, clearly somewhat amused by Jackson's nervousness, until he clears his throat, "So I take it you're still not telling me where we're going?" </p><p> </p><p>"Nope," Deuce responds, popping the p, "it's a surprise," </p><p> </p><p>"Okie dokie," Jackson responds in a high voice, something he always does when anxious. Suddenly his hands resting folded in his lap are incredibly interesting, he can't tear his eyes away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is this how all of this is gonna go?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"When did you, um…" Jackson's throat suddenly feels as dry as sandpaper, "when did you think of um…"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh my god just form a sentence for the love of--</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Earlier yesterday, I figured it would be fun for the two of us to do something together," if Jackson's not mistaken (he isn't), Deuce sounds a little anxious too.</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's molars find a piece of his cheek to chew on nervously, "Does that make this a romantic thing?"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce chews the tip of his forked tongue, "I mean, if you wanna look at it that way, then sure," </p><p> </p><p>Deuce hears a dull thud as Jackson lays his forehead on the dash in an attempt to hide his reddening face with a flustered groan slash whine, folding his arms over his neck. Deuce snorts.</p><p> </p><p>"You're such an anime character,"</p><p> </p><p>That draws a laugh, albeit muffled by his shirt sleeves, "Shut up, jackass," Jackson sits up, straightening his glasses. "Since I have no clue where you're taking me I brought some money in case,"</p><p> </p><p>"How much?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uhhh," Jackson pulls his wallet out of his pocket, sifting through it, "twenty bucks?"</p><p> </p><p>"Coolcoolcool, even number then," Deuce taps his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous tick he's developed over the past couple of days, "I stole twenty bucks from your cousin by the way,"</p><p> </p><p>"Fair enough but why?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because he was being a dick and he deserved it," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson somewhat successfully stifles a laugh and nods as a strained grin grows on his face. Over time, the car ride grows less and less awkward as the two ease into the type of conversations that they're so used to. Oddly enough, it almost feels like there wasn't a gap of time at all.</p><p> </p><p>"Did we just leave Salem?" Jackson turns to see the city's Welcome sign fade behind the two as Deuce drives beyond the city's bounds.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah,"</p><p> </p><p>"How far is this place?" Jackson turns to Deuce, who gives a noncommittal shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"Like fifteen more minutes I think?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson cocks his eyebrow, giving Deuce a lopsided grin. </p><p> </p><p>"That's all the hint you're getting by the way,"</p><p> </p><p>"You know if I didn't trust you I'd think I'm about to be murdered and then dumped in some river," Jackson remarks offhandedly, raising his eyebrows and staring straight ahead.</p><p> </p><p>"Et tu, Brute?" Deuce snorts, accompanied by a head wag and an eyeroll, "Jokes aside though, we're here,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson opens the car door, tilting his head at what he sees. They're parked at what appears to be an old looking strip mall, directly in front of an establishment with blue, red, and purple neon lights, the only signage above the door simply reads Chickie's Eat In And Arcade in all capitalized, blinking letters, with a small neon with a cartoony hen mascot. Jackson stays completely silent as the two walk through the entrance, left too floored at how bizarre yet weirdly on character this choice for a date spot is.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, they <em>did</em> make out after playing video games for four hours, so it's not as though this is really that surprising, Deuce has always had a knack for things like that.</p><p> </p><p>"Lemme go get some tokens," Deuce heads to a prize counter while Jackson stares dumbly around at the various game cabinets lined up across the room. There are a few arcade staples he definitely recognizes, some monster things he's never heard of, a couple crane machines, and some other various games that are most definitely rigged to steal your money.</p><p> </p><p>Weird, Deuce took him to the monster side of town. Either way most of the monsters here don't seem to be gawking at the appearance of a normie.</p><p> </p><p>(He's still going to keep his eyes peeled, just in case.)</p><p> </p><p>Jackson startles slightly at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, but since it's just Deuce, he isn't too taken aback. "Alright, where to first, Doctor J?"</p><p> </p><p>"What about a round of Pacman to warm up?"</p><p> </p><p>The next half hour or so consists of the two taking turns choosing games and pooling the hundred or so tickets they've earned together. They were trying to decide on a prize to try and win that seemed somewhat realistic when their eyes fell upon an awful screening of a stock image of a bat on a pillow and both decided simultaneously that's what they were going to try and win.</p><p> </p><p>"So twenty five hundred divided by two," Deuce has a small notepad in front of him as they sit at a small table at the attached kid's 'restaurant' awaiting the cheap subs and sodas they'd ordered. </p><p> </p><p>"One thousand two hundred and fifty," Jackson finishes for him.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, thank you," Deuce writes that down, then flips to the chart which has the ticket prizes for all the games written on it. "So I think our better bet would be attempting the easier games first and repeating them until we each get enough,"</p><p> </p><p>"Or we could do some of the harder games, since we'd get more bang for our buck that way," Jackson shrugs, leaning forward.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah but if we lose, we get even less,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson scoffs with a face of false shock and bravado, "Deuce, don't you <em>know?!</em> I'm <em>soo</em> smart, I never lose at anything, especially not <em>games,"</em></p><p> </p><p>"Didn't you lose a bunch when we played <em>Castlevania?"</em> </p><p> </p><p>They both pause when a waitress their age unenthusiastically gives them their drinks, both thanking her quietly as she walks away.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, shush, I just got it," Jackson sips his freckled lemonade with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"So the game with the highest ticket prize is… I think some kinda dancing game?"</p><p> </p><p>"DDR?" Jackson remarks, smiling with a raised brow and trying to get more strawberries from his drink.</p><p> </p><p>"The <em>fuck's</em> DDR?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do monsters not--?" Jackson cuts himself off, "Nevermind let's check it out after we get our food," </p><p> </p><p>"Mhmm good idea,"</p><p> </p><p>It takes few more minutes of doing the math to most efficiently get more tickets before their food is given to them, cheap subs that look like the kind of food that will probably have you paying some kind of consequence later are served to them in small red baskets, they smell heavenly and both Jackson and Deuce realize just how hungry they are.</p><p> </p><p>Raising the sandwich and taking a bite, Jackson chews the fried chicken patty, staring at Deuce out of his peripheral as the buttery coating melts in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm um…" He swallows down his food along with his embarrassment, "I'm really happy you took me here,"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm happy you agreed to come," Deuce remarks while feeding one of his snakes a fry. "I was worried this would end up on some 'terrible first dates' forum,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson can't help but laugh, "No, are you kidding me? I'm the token dork friend, of course I love shit like this,"</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I like dorks," Deuce shrugs, expression unchanging.</p><p> </p><p>"That's pretty gay man," </p><p> </p><p>"Says the guy who wore <em>tweed</em>,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson gasps in mock offense, placing a hand on his chest for added dramatics, "<em>Excuse me</em> for wanting to look good!"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm kidding, you look really nice," Deuce looks down as his snakes hiss quietly in embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>Endeared by Deuce's flustering, Jackson grins, "That's sweet of you to say, thank you," Jackson takes a sip of his lemonade once more to keep himself from saying something he could end up regretting.</p><p> </p><p>"How good are you at rhythm games?" Asks Jackson once he gets his composure back.</p><p> </p><p>"Bad," Deuce admits with a sheepish laugh "My entire childhood was spent getting my ass kicked by <em>Guitar Hero,</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"That's unfortunate,"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah I think it gave me legit emotional trauma when I was seven,"</p><p> </p><p>"Well if this goes horribly wrong, feel free to mention me by name to a future shrink," Jackson jokes while stealing one of Deuce's fries, who in turn just chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh of course, I would do nothing else," </p><p> </p><p>The two finish their meals rather quickly and figure out how to best split the bill before heading back to the arcade with their sodas still in hand.</p><p> </p><p>"I can't believe that came to just over twenty bucks," Jackson remarks, "it was delicious, but like…"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah no, we're gonna die,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson pulls some tokens stashed in his pocket and pushes them into the slot while shrugging, "If I die eating a chicken sandwich, that's just how I die,"</p><p> </p><p>"For a supposed genius, you have terrible self preservation," Deuce muses, only half joking.</p><p> </p><p>"Let my corpse serve purpose as a warning, then," Jackson scoffs, standing up straight and stepping onto the cheap steel and plastic platform with dull sounding thuds. "Okay, any song preference?"</p><p> </p><p>"Any Catty songs?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uhhh, lemme check…" Jackson scrolls through the game's digital library, countless pop songs that he's never heard of catch his eye but none really stand out until,</p><p>"There's a song just titled <em>Debut</em> that says it's by her,"</p><p> </p><p>"Think it's her debut song?" Deuce asks jokingly.</p><p> </p><p>"I dunno, let's play it to find out," Jackson also jokes, completely deadpan.</p><p> </p><p>Edgy sounding synth pop blares from the aged speakers as arrows scroll up from the bottom of the screen, all the while Deuce and Jackson do their best to keep time with the beats.</p><p> </p><p>So far, Jackson has kept a perfect combo while Deuce can never seem to keep more than twenty in a row.</p><p> </p><p>"How the hell are you so good at this?" Deuce tries to be heard over the music.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm good at keeping time, I guess?" Jackson shrugs, still attempting to keep his combo going.</p><p> </p><p>Once the bridge hits and the song speeds up, Jackson laughs as he loses his combo but continues trying to get the highest score of the two, until the song ends with a rap and the <em>COMPLETED</em> screen lets out a chime of congratulations.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, nice," The two high five as Jackson kneels down to grab the several tickets spat out. </p><p> </p><p>"Damn, this is like a hundred," Jackson mutters, eyes widening at the amount of tickets he's currently trying to fold.</p><p> </p><p>"You kept a pretty clean combo," Deuce grins, helping Jackson with the spool of paper, "how'd you do that?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson makes an I dunno noise with a noncommittal shrug, "I've always been kinda good with patterns in music, I guess," </p><p> </p><p>"Well," Deuce nudges Jackson, "how about a few more rounds?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes a few more hours before Deuce and Jackson have to leave, neither had intended to stay that long, but it's not surprising that it ended up happening that way anyway as things with them usually tend to. Jackson thinks about this as he bites back a smile while he calls his mom, explaining he's going to be back a little later. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Alright, I trust you both, just please stay safe, and tell Deuce to get home safe too!"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"F'sure mom, see you in a bit," Jackson smiles as he hangs up. "Sorry," </p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry about it,"</p><p> </p><p>"She told me to tell you to get home safe, by the way,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce cocks an eyebrow, "Why does she want me to get home safe?"</p><p> </p><p>"She cares about you, don't worry about it," Jackson shrugs as he turns the already soft music they're playing down. "I'm gonna be real with you Deuce, if this is some weird way of apologizing, I'm gonna be real pissed,"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce chews his cheek, swallowing a growing lump in his throat as he drives through a tunnel, lights on the walls briefly catching shadows and disappearing in the blink of an eye, "Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you,"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson's gaze is briefly illuminated by golden lights, and just as quickly, he's cast in shadows once more. "Some fucked up way of us still trying to convince ourselves we're 'just friends?'"</p><p> </p><p>Deuce exhales from his nose, "Yeah that was kinda dumb," Only a shaky breath can be heard from the driver's seat until Deuce pipes up once more, "maybe I think we shouldn't be friends anymore,"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you trying to ask me out?"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean I kinda already did," </p><p> </p><p>Jackson says nothing, just makes a small<em> 'uh-huh'</em> sound, but even if he can't really see Jackson beyond the headlights in front of the two of them, Deuce can hear his signature smirk, like an inside joke Deuce isn't aware of.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he'll be aware of them one day.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean figured you weren't taking me to an arcade at five p.m. to tell me to get out of your life," </p><p> </p><p>"That would be kind of a fucked up way of doing it," Deuce laughs in agreeance.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh, just pull up in front here," Deuce parallel parks at the curb in front of the Jekyll's yard, allowing Jackson ample time to gather the few things he'd brought with him. Before he leaves however, Jackson takes a breath for courage and swiftly moves in towards Deuce's face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Ow--!"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my god-- <em>I'm so sorry--"</em></p><p> </p><p>Jackson's teeth clack against Deuce's and their glasses both mash together before they pull away laughing out apologies.</p><p> </p><p>"Here, let me try again," Pulling off his glasses (since Deuce taking off his shades would probably spell disaster), Jackson moves in once more, pressing his lips to Deuce's and allowing a flush to spread through his face at the small sigh Deuce let out at the contact. </p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to stall too long, They both pull away, unable to keep eye contact for too long.</p><p> </p><p>"So uh…" Deuce clears his throat, "we cool?"</p><p> </p><p>Jackson snorts and rolls his eyes while opening the car door, but not before giving Deuce a peck on the nose.</p><p> </p><p>"Dumbass." </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so uhhh haha hi im alive<br/>idk if this story still has people waiting for it? but if u are i hope this was worth the wait.<br/>umm few things<br/>1. ive been working on this for. yeah uh over a gd month (i think i started it in february)<br/>2. i had to do a tiny amount of retconning (i deleted a whole ass chapter nfndnns)<br/>3. at one point, writer's block punched me in my nuts so i changed the file name to "i need to do this" and ummmm. it taunted me but ik i wouldve forgotten it if i hadn't.</p><p>i am actually p happy with how this came out and i really hope this was worth it for all of u!! i do have something else for this particular story in the works (it is another ship fix bc hey deuce has two hands and jackson and holt are a 2 in 1 package wink wonk) so hahahhhsha idk when that'll be up tho.</p><p>anyway, ilu </p><p>-fish</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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